IBON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE, 


i      SAN  DIEGO     j 


BY   REV.    J.  j3.  VAWTEF\._ 


Opinions  of  the  P^ess. 

No  book  published  for  years  will  probably  stir  a  deeper  feeling,  or 
be  read  with  more  eager  interest  than  this  absorbing  narrative  of  life, 
Bufferings,  and  death  in  rebel  prisons  during:  the  war  of  the  rebellion. 
That  contest  stands  forth  conspicuous  among  the  great  struggles  of 
the  world,  marked  by  the  immense  magnitude  of  its  operations,  the 
mighty  armies  that  rallied  voluntarily  to  save  their  country,  brilliant 
achievements  of  volunteer  soldiers,  and  more  especially  by  the  dark 
and  terrible  sufferings  of  those  who  by  the  accidents  of  the  war  fell  in- 
to the  hands  of  their  enemies  and  were  confined  in  rebel  prisons. 
Theie  is  no  darker  episode  in  history  than  the  sufferings  of  our  sol- 
diers in  Andcrsonville  and  other  less  noted  prisons,  and  there  never 
has  been  a  record  in  all  the  annals  of  time  which  portrays  a  loftier 
heroism,  a  sterner  fidelity  to  country,  a  purer,  more  self-sacrificing 
patriotism  than  that  of  the  Union  prisoners.  He  who  reads  this  book 
will  form  higher  conceptions  of  the  splendid  material  out  of  which  our 
armies  were  made,  and  will  no  longer  wonder  at  the  achievements  of 
the  civilian  soldier.  They  were  such  men  as  only  a  free  country  can 
produce. 

The  author  of  this  history,  a  Union  soldier,  was  a  personal  witness 
and  a  companion  in  the  sufferings  of  all  he  records. 

There  never  has  been  such  another  story  recited  in  history  as  that 
of  Andersonville  prison.  For  the  details  we  will  have  to  refer  the 
reader  to  the  vivid  narration. — The  Evangelist. 

We  think  that  one  reflection  will  force  itself  upon  every  one  who 
reads  the  thrilling  tale,  viz:  that  a  people  who  could  thrust  31,000 
prisoners  into  a  narrow  prison  pen,  leave  them  without  shelter  under 
the  broiling  sun  of  the  South,  and  the  chill  storms  of  winter,  starve 
them,  suffer  the  filth  to  accumulate  in  masses  to  breed  pestilence,  tor- 
ture and  shoot  them  under  the  slightest  provocation,  have  too  deep- 
rooted  an  animosity  to  the  North  to  be  trusted  with  the  reigns  of  Gov- 
ernment. Think  of  it,  reader,  when  you  go  to  the  poll  at  The  ides  of 
November! 

Wo  cannot  forbear  to  mention  one  episode.  After  Sherman  took  At- 
lanta, Sergeant  Oats  and  a  comrade  escaped,  struck  for  the  Union  lines, 
traveling  only  at  night.  After  two  weeks  of  liberty,  of  starvation,  and 
sufferings  worthy  of  freedom,  they  were  tracked  down  by  blood 
hounds  and  captured.  The  struggle  for  freedom  and  life  is  told  in  a 
way  that  carries  the  reader  right  through  the  thickets  in  the  darkness, 
over  rivers,  into  negro  cabins,  in  the  pursuit  by  blood  hounds,  and  the 
incidents  of  the  return. 

-^Every  one  should  buy  this  book,  read  it,  have  their  children  read  it, 
and  let  the  lesson  go  down  to  posterity  of  the  price  that  was  paid  to 
preserve  our  Union.  As  Gen.  Garfield  said  at  the  Andersonville  Re- 
union, in  a  speech  published  in  this  book:  "All  other  deeds  of  hero- 
ism pale  before  the  heroic  endurance  of  the  heroes  of  Andersonville. 
They  were  enticed  to  enlist  under  the  rebel  banner;  but  they  preferred 
to  hunger,  starve  and  die."  No  novel  will  hold  the  reader  so  en- 
chained as  this  truthful  narrative.  ' 


2 

The  publishers  have  done  their  work  well.  The  book  is  a  handsome 
specimen  of  the  art,  and  is  illustrated  with  a  number  of  spirited  en- 
gravings.—  Vincennes  (Ind.)  Commercial. 

This  book  is  written  without  art.  It  goes  to  the  heart  in  a  director 
way.  Its  simplicity,  earnestness,  and  dignity  excuse  the  slight  blem- 
ishes of  style,  and  the  homeliness  of  language  is  itself  a  recommenda- 
tion to  favor.  The  priso*  chiefly  referred  to  is  Andersonville.  The 
unutterable  horrors  of  that  foul  stye  are  described  here  as  faithfully 
as  words  can  describe  them.  Exaggeration  at  the  best  must  be  well- 
nigh  impossible,  and  there  is  no  attempt  at  over-statement.  The  nar- 
rator had  a  more  varied  experience  than  some  of  his  companions.  He 
escaped  and  was  not  recaptured  until  he  had  reached  a  point  nearly 
200  miles  distant  from  the  prison.  Bloodhounds  ran  him  down,  but 
he  was  discovered  by  accident,  his  captors  being  in  search  of  desert- 
ers, not  of  escaped  prisoners.  Gen.  Garfield's  speech  on  Andersonville 
is  printed  in  this  volume  as  an  appendix.  In  confirmation  of  some  of 
its  statements  Sergt,  Oats  gives  his  recollection  of  a  vote  i»  prison. 
When  McClellan  was  nominated  for  the  Presidency  on  a  platform  that 
declared  the  war  to  be  a  failure;  and  was  well  understood  that  his 
election  would  result  in  peace  and  the  release  of  all  prisoners,  a  ballot 
was  taken  in  the  prison.  (Sergt.  Oats  was  then  temporarily  in  Camp 
Lawton.)  He  writes:  "I  do  not  remember  the  exact  votes  cast  for 
each  candidate,  but  it  was  about  8,000  for  Lincoln  and  1,500  for  Little 
Mac.  Does  the  reader  of  to-day  understand  that  vote?  What  did  it 
mean?  What  did  it  say  to  the  rebel  officers  who  watched  us  so  close- 
ly? It  meant  that  we  were  willing  to  chill  and  to  starve;  to  endure 
the  horrors  of  the  prison  pens;  to  die,  or  worse, — to  become  lunatics 
and  idiots,  if  need  be,  rather  than  see  the  war  closed  with  dishonor  to 
the  American  flag.  It  said  to  those  rebels, '  Do  your  worst;  we'll  never 
ask  you  for  peace,1" — Chicago  Tribune, 

This  book  contains  twenty-three  chapters.  Of  these  all  but  the  three 
first  and  the  last  are  literally  chapters  of  horrors.  This  story  is  one 
oft  told,  for,  unfortunately,  there  are  scattered  abroad,  in  all  parts  of 
the  country,  brave  and  true  men  in  whose  persons  are  borne  the  sad 
evidences  of  the  brutality  they  suffered  while  victims  of  the  same 
prison  life,  concerning  which  this  volume  so  feelingly  gives  a  narration. 

Beginning;  with  the  heroic  struggle  at  Atlanta,  and  the  capture  of  a 
large  number  of  our  troops,  the  writer  leads  the  reader  on  to  Ander- 
spnville,  and  to  all  the  sickening  and  sad  facts  of  history  which  men- 
tion of  that  pest  hole  ever  recall.  Whoever  takes  up  the  book  will 
find  a  story,  which  he  cannot,  if  he  would,  cease  to  follow  to  the  end. 
— Davenport  Gazelle. 

We  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  a  better  account  of  the  brutalities 
of  that  Confederate  pandemonium — it  is  the  plain,  straightforward 
story  of  a  man  who  went  personally  through  the  dire  experiences 
which  he  narrates.  It  is  a  tale  of  starvation,  of  nakedness,  of  needless 
deprivation-,  and  of  continual  insult. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

No  work  has  been  issued  from  the  press  for  years  that  surpasses  this 
wonderful  and  truthful  history  in  thrillinir  and  romantic  interest.  The 
author  was  captured  while  under  Sherman,  consigned  to  Anderson- 
ville, suffered  the  untold  horrors  of  the  prison-pen,  which  he  describes 
with  a  vivid  and  startling  reality,  with  a  pathos  and  minirled  humor 
that  provokes  tears  and  laughter  at  the  same  time — Iowa  Stale 
/ inter. 


Y 


9 


WINKLER 
NEW  and  USED  BOOKS 

BACK    ISSUE    MAfiAZlNES 

5921  Ho%wo<xt  Blvd.  Gtantt*M7S 

PRISON    LIFE 


IN 


DIXIE. 


GIVING     A    SHORT    HISTORY   OP   THE   INHUMAN 

AND    BARBAROUS    TREATMENT   OF   OUR 

SOLDIERS  BY  REBEL  AUTHORITIES. 


REV.  J.  B.  VAWTER. 

(SERGEANT  GATES.) 

THIRD  EDITION. 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  NUMEROUS  PULL  PAGE 
ENGRAVINGS. 


TO  WHICH    18   ADDED  THE   SPEECH   OF  GEN.  J.   A.   GARFIELD, 

DELIVERED  AT   THE  ANDER8ONVILLE  REUNION, 

AT  TOLEDO,  OHIO,  OCT.  3,  1879. 


CHICAGO  I 

CENTRAL  BOOK  CONCERN. 
1881. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

CENTRAL  BOOK  CONCERN, 
1880. 


DEDICATION. 


TO   THE     SUEVIVOES    OF    ANDERSONVILLE 

PEISON,    MY     COMEADES    IN   SUFFEEING, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  DEDICATED. 


PREFACE. 


It  is  not  claimed  for  this  story  that  it  gives  a  full 
and  'perfect  history  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
Union  prisoners  in  the  South  during  the  war  ;  but 
the  writer  has  endeavored  to  furnish  such  descrip- 
tions and  incidents  as  will  give  the  reader  a  true 
picture  of  Rebel  Prisons,  and  the  means  and  meth- 
ods of  living  or  dying  in  them. 

In  doing  this,  he  has  relied  on  his  memory; 
selecting  those  fact',  and  trying  to  paint  those  pict- 
ures which  are  clearest  and  plainest  in  his  own 
mind.  He  has  not  tried  to  color  these  descriptions 
— they  would  not  bear  it  ;  but  has  told  them  i  i 
"plain  language,  just  as  they  seem  to  him  after  a 
lapse  of  fifteen  years. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


STORM  AT  NIGHT 1 

PLAN  OF  STOCKADE 39 

RESULT  OP  CROSSING  THE  DEAD-LINE 46 

DISTRIBUTING  RATIONS 52 

BREAKING  OF  THE  STOCKADE 64 

CAPTURED  BY  BLOOD-HOUNDS 107 

WANTED  A  SHIRT 114 

(8) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Sherman  in  front  of  Atlanta. — The  Raid. — Sleepy  Guards. 
— Pontoon  Boats. — Rebel  Camp  Surrenders. — In  the 
Enemy's  Land. — Palmetto  in  Ashes. — A  Running 
Fight 13 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  Southern  Bridge. — Waiting  for  Stragglers. — Sharpshoot- 
ers.— Bombshell.— The  Capture 22 

CHAPTER  III. 

Robbed. — Traded  Hats. — A  Rebel  Woman. — Stored  in  a 
Cotton  Warehouse. — Taken  to  Andersonville. — Sumter 
Prison. — The  Stockade 31 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Arrival  at  Andersonville. — A  Warning. — Hiding  Valuables. 
— "  Old  Wirtz  ".—Stripped,  Searched,  Robbed  and 
Turned  in. — The  Dead  Line. — How  We  Obtained 
Thread 40 

(9) 


10  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V. 

Our  New  Quarters. — "  Nigger  Peas." — Mode  of  Drawing 
Rations. — Always  Hungry. — Vermin. — Horrible. — Fear- 
tul  Mortality 50 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Cruelty  of  our  Government. — Study  of  Human  Nature.  - 
Nothing  to  do. — Church  Privileges. — A  Catholic  Priest.- 
August  Storms. — A  Water  Spout. — Providence. — A 
Break  in  the  Stockade. — A  Dash  for  Liberty 59 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Longing  for  News. — Nothing   Reliable  could  be  heard 

from  the   Rebels. — "  Atlanta   Gone  to  »" — Moving 

Prisoners. — False  Reports  about  Exchange. — Going  out 
on  a  Dead  Man's  Name. — Crowded  into  Cars  like  Stock. 
—Wrecked 68 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Taken  Back  to  the  Pen. — Plans  of  Escape. — Tunnels. — 
Bloodhounds. — Poor  Drummer  Boy. — Our  Plan.  . .  77 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Leap  for  Freedom. — Our  Wardrobe. — A  Friendly  Alli- 
gator.— Traveling  by  Night 85 

CHAPTER  X. 

In  the  Swamps. — Discouraged. — A  Fat  Frog. — Flint 
River. — A  Borrowed  Canoe 92 

CHAPTER  XI. 

A  Provoking  Dilemma.— A  Chance  for  Tyndall. — Swim- 
ming Rivers  by  Night. — Concealed  in  a  Pile  of  Rags. — 


CONTENTS.  11 

A  New  Trouble. — Almost  Starved. — Starve  or  Steal. — 
Hopes  Growing  Brighter. — A  Familiar  Sound. — Caught 
by  Bloodhounds. — Rather  Die  than  go  back  to  Anderson- 
ville 98 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Our  Captors. — A  Hospitality  not  before  Encountered  in 
the  South. — Wanted,  A  Shirt. — The  Situation  Discuss- 
ed.— Kindness 110 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  the  Road. — A  Mob. — Red-Tape  Fops. — Jailed 119 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Columbus  Jail. — Better  Fare. — To  Macon. — New 
Plans  for  Escape. — Camp  Lawton 126 

CHAPTER  XV. 

False  Promises  of  Exchange. —Searching  for  Acquaint- 
ances.— Presidential  Election. — The  Result 132 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Attempt  to  Entice  Prisoners  to  make  Shoes  for  the  Rebel 
Army.  The  Temptation. — Enlistments. — Running  the 
Gauntlet. — Another  Change 138 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Life  on  the  Rail  Road. — The  Blues. — Great  Excitement. — 
Sherman  loose  in  Georgia. — Swamps. — A  Country  Resi- 
dence.—"Poor  White  Trash." — A  Citizen 143 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"Flanking." — Exchange. — A    Dash  for  Liberty.— Moved 


12  CONTENTS. 

Again. — A  Square  Meal. — Back  to  Andersonville. . .  160 
CHAPTER  XIX. 

Andersonville  in  Winter. — The  Weather. — How  Fuel  was 
Obtained. — Efforts  to  Keep  Warm. — Good  News. — Man- 
ufacturing Industries. — "Raising  "  Confed.  Money..  157 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Sheds. — Spring  has  come. — Sighing  for  News. — Prospect 
for  Exchange. — Left  Alone. — Ready  to  die 165 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Exchange  Stopped. — Wilson's  Raid. — New  Hope. — 
Stocks. — A  Hasty  Move. — Another  Plan  to  Escape. — 
Great  Excitement  Among  the  Rebs. — Rebel  Lies. —  Cor- 
ralled for  the  Last  Time 173 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Preparations  for  Another  Move. — Anxiously  Waiting. — 
Rebel  Advice. — Turned  Loose. — A  Pathetic  Scene. — 
Tears  and  Curses. — Manifestations  ot  Joy  at  Sight  of 
the  Old  Flag.— God's  Country 183 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Homeward  Bound. — A  Feast. — Too  Happy  to  Sleep. — On 
the  Atlantic. — Ice  for  the  Sick(?).—  Home  at  Last.  192 

Speech  of  Gen.  Garfield  at  the  Andersonville  Reunion,  at 
Toledo,  Ohio,  Oct.  5,  1879 199 

Andersonville  in  1880 .206 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    RAID. 

While  Sherman's  army  lay  in  front  of 
Atlanta,  he  determined  to  send  his  cavalry 
on  a  raid  to  the  enemy's  rear,  to  destroy 
their  railroad  communication.  So,  on  July 
27th,  1864,  General  Stoneman  moved  east- 
ward to  pass  around  the  flank  of  the  rebel 
army,  and  General  Ed.  McCook,  at  the  same 
time,  started  to  pass  around  the  left. 

McCook's  command  numbered  about 
2,000  men,  well  mounted  and  equipped,  of 
which  the  writer  was  one. 

We  all  knew  the  nature  of  the  mission 
on  which  we  were  sent,  and  felt  that  it  was 
(13) 


14  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

difficult.  For  it  is  not  easy  for  two  thou- 
sand men  to  go  behind  a  hostile  army  of 
sixty  thousand,  and  do  any  damage,  and— 
get  back. 

Early  on  that  bright,  hot  July  morning, 
the  bugle  called  us  into  line — an  inspec- 
tion was  made,  and  all  lame  horses  or  sick 
men  ordered  back  to  camp.  We  consoled 
those  who  had  to  stay  behind  with  the 
promise  that  we  would  bring  them  a  plug 
of  tobacco  when  we  came  back.  When  we 
came  back  ?  We  shall  see. 

Thus  relieved  of  all  that  would  encum- 
ber us,  we  moved  out  on  the  road  and 
started  westward.  We  crossed  the  Chatta- 
hoochee  at  Sandtown,  and  passed  down  on 
the  west  side  about  twenty  miles  to  the 
vicinity  of  Campbelltown,  when  the  com- 
mand was  ordered  to  rest  under  cover  of 
the  woods,  and  scouts  sent  out  to  find  a 
place  at  which  to  cross  the  river.  The 
different  scouting  parties  returned  with 
reports  that  all  the  fords  and  ferries  were 
fortified  and  guarded  by  rebel  infantry. 

About  midnight  we  again  mounted,  and 
under  cover  of  the  darkness,  with  no  sound 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  15 

but  the  tread  of  our  horses  on  the  sandy 
road,  we  crept  down  the  river  about  five 
miles  farther,  to  an  old,  deserted  ferry. 
Two  companies  were  stationed  at  this 
point,  and  they  had  a  picket-post  on  our 
side  of  the  river;  four  men  and  an  officer 
were  on  guard,  but  thinking  the  Yanks 
were  far  away  they  had  set  their  guns 
against  a  tree,  built  a  little  fire  to  smoke 
off  the  mosquitoes,  and  were  quietly  snooz- 
ing when  our  scouts  crept  up,  moved  the 
guns  from  the  tree,  and  then,  with  their 
own  guns  cocked  and  ready,  waked  up  the 
pickets  and  told  them  to  keep  very  quiet, 
as  we  wished  to  cross  the  river  without 
disturbing  any  one. 

We  halted  on  the  river  bank,  our  pon- 
toon wagons  were  ordered  up,  and  we  had 
two  boats  made  and  launched  in  a  few 
minutes. 

For  many  of  our  readers,  I  will  state 
that  the  pontoons  taken  by  the  cavalry  on 
their  raids  were  light  frames  that  could 
be  put  together  or  taken  apart  in  a  mo- 
ment. When  the  frame  or  skeleton  was 
put  together,  a  cloth  of  thick  canvas  was 


16  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

stretched  over  it,  fastened  at  the  corners, 
and  it  was  ready  to  launch.  The  material 
for  a  boat  twenty  feet  long,  six  wide,  and 
two  deep,  could  be  carried  in  a  very  small 
space. 

Four  companies  crossed,  and  deployed 
along  the  east  bank;  the  rest  drew  up  in 
line  on  the  west  shore  and  waited  for  day. 
As  soon  as  it  was  light  enough,  the  troops 
on  the  east  side  surrounded  the  rebel 
camp,  and  they  surrendered  without  firing 
a  gun. 

Preparations  were  at  once  begun  for 
crossing  the  river,  but  it  was  almost  noon 
before  the  entire  command  was  across. 

From  here  the  pontoon  wagons  were  sent 
back  under  a  guard.  Our  prisoners  were 
turned  loose  because  we  had  no  way  of 
taking  care  of  them,  and  we  started  rapid- 
ly across  the  country  in  search  of  the 
Atlanta  &  West  Point  railroad. 

When  we  left  the  river,  after  seeing  our 
bridge  taken  out  on  the  other  side,  we 
recognized  that  we  were  no  longer  a  part 
of  the  great  army  before  Atlanta,  but  a 
detached  brigade  in  the  enemy's  land,  with 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  17 

a  powerful  army  between  us  and  our  camp- 
ground. The  news  of  the  raid  would 
spread  like  a  prairie  fire;  we  would  be 
headed  off,  followed  up,  and  harrassed. 
Our  safety  lay  in  rapid  movement. 

We  traveled  well  that  afternoon.  At 
about  eight  o'clock,  in  the  midst  of  a  thun- 
der shower,  we  came  upon  the  railroad 
near  the  town  of  Palmetto." 

We  deployed  a  skirmish  line  and  moved 
on  the  town.  A  company  of  rebel  cavalry 
fired  one  volley  and  fled,  and  we  posted  a 
heavy  picket  to  prevent  surprise,  and  went 
to  work.  The  rain  ceased  by  the  time  we 
were  fairly  at  work,  and  the  stars  came 
out. 

We  tore  down  the  telegraph  wire,  wound 
up  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  it,  and  sunk  it 
in  a  pond.  We  tore  up  as  much  railroad 
track,  made  fires  of  the  ties,  and  piled  the 
rails  on  them,  so  as  to  heat  and  bend  them. 

There  were  a  half-dozen  freight  cars 
on  the  side  track,  and  a  large  quantity  of 
bacon  in  the  depot,  and  four  or  five  ware- 
houses filled  with  baled  cotton  near  the 
track.  These  were  fired — and  what  a  ter- 
2 


18  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

rible  fire  they  made!  The  whole  town  and 
surrounding  country  were  lit  up  by  the 
red  glare. 

The  clouds  overhead  reflected  the  light 
and  shone  like  red  sunset.  The  fire  be- 
came so  hot  that  no  one  could  pass  along 
the  street.  It  spread  to  adjacent  build- 
ings. The  citizens  were  seen  scampering 
in  all  directions.  Even  women — some  of 
them  in  their  night  clothes,  with  white, 
scared  faces — flitted  from  alley  to  street 
and  from  street  to  alley.  Palmetto  at  sun- 
set knew  that  there  was  war  in  the  land, 
but  she  lay  down  secure  in  the  feeling  that 
she  had  a  grand  army  in  front  of  her  to 
defend  her  from  invasion.  Before  midnight 
she  realized  that  war — destructive,  terri- 
ble, cruel — was  in  her  midst.  The  next 
morning  arose  upon  a  blackened  ruin.  It 
was  the  track  of  war. 

A  little  before  midnight  our  work  was 
done,  and  we  swept  out  of  town  toward  the 
east.  Just  east  of  town  we  passed  a  planta- 
tion where  two  or  three  hundred  negroes, 
of  all  ages  and  sexes,  were  sitting  on  the 
fence  watching  the  red  glare  of  the  burning 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  19 

village.  The  light  was  bright  enough  to 
make  everything  distinct.  As  we  rode  by, 
one  old  "  aunty "  raised  her  hands  toward 
heaven  and  cried  aloud,  "Bress  de  Lord! 
de  jubilee  hab  come!" 

At  about  three  o'clock  A.  M.,  we  came 
upon  a  large  park  of  army  wagons;  we 
were  told  that  there  were  eight  hundred 
of  them.  Hood  had  sent  them  back  there 
to  have  them  safe.  We  took  the  mules, 
burned  the  wagons,  and  turned  the  drivers 
loose. 

At  about  seven  o'clock  that  morning  we 
struck  the  Macon  railroad  near  Lovejoy 
station,  where  we  expected  to  form  a  junc- 
tion with  Stoneman,  who  had  started 
around  the  other  way. 

We  treated  this  road  like  we  did  the 
other;  captured  and  destroyed  a  train  of 
cars,  and  sent  out  scouts  in  all  directions 
to  feel  for  Stoneman. 

Some  of  our  scouts  came  back  to  tell  us 
that  there  was  rebel  cavalry  near  us.  Some 
did  not  come  back  at  all.  No  word  or  sign 
from  Stoneman  could  we  get.  We  feared 


20  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE 

he  was  in  trouble,  or  "gone  up,"  but  we 
wanted  some  word. 

But  as  evidence  multiplied  that  the 
Johnnies  were  thickening  around  us,  we  all 
became  impatient.  Croxton  and  Brownlow 
were  chafing  like  caged  tigers.  They  felt 
that  waiting  was  fatal.  (I  have  always 
believed  that  Croxton  could  have  taken  us 
out  of  the  scrape.)  But  McCook  was  loth 
to  leave  without  first  learning  the  fate  of 
Stoneman. 

About  two  o'clock  p.  M.  he  gave  it  up.  By 
this  time  the  rebs  had  surrounded  us,  and 
were  just  waiting  to  see  how  we  would 
try  to  get  out.  We  skirmished  with  them 
for  an  hour,  feeling  their  line  on  the  west 
and  south,  and  losing  five  or  six  men  killed. 
We  then  massed  our  forces,  and  charging 
up  a  ravine,  broke  their  line  and  fled;  and 
all  that  afternoon,  and  the  night  following, 
we  had  a  running  fight,  they  crowding  our 
rear  the  whole  time. 

Whenever  they  would  get  too  close,  one 
or  two  companies  of  our  command  would 
be  deployed  to  skirmish  with  them.  This 
would  cause  them  to  halt  and  form  for 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  21 

attack,  and  thus  give  us  a  little  time. 
True,  these  companies  were  often  captured, 
but  they  were  sacrificed  to  save  the  rest 
of  the  command. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    CAPTURE. 

The  first  chapter  closed  with  our  flight 
after  we  cut  through  the  rebel's  line  near 
Love  joy  station.  Twice  during  the  after- 
noon they  pressed  our  rear  so  closely  that 
we  were  obliged  to  deploy  a  skirmish  line 
and  show  fight,  in  order  to  gain  time.  But 
after  dark,  we  rode  on  without  hearing  or 
seeing  anything  of  our  pursuers,  and  the 
hope  that  they  had  encamped  for  the 
night  was  struggling  for  a  place  in  our 
minds;  though,  really,  our  knowledge  of 
our  pursuers  (Wheeler's  cavalry)  gave  us 
small  room  for  hope. 

(22) 


PRISON  LIFE  IN   DIXIE.  26 

The  night  was  warm;  there  was  no 
wind,  and  a  haze  crept  up,  till  the  only 
stars  visible  were  those  near  the  zenith. 

About  midnight  we  came  to  a  little 
river.  We  approached  it,  coming  down  a 
sloping  hillside  for  perhaps  two  hundred 
yards,  through  a  scrubby  growth  of  oak, 
known  as  oak  barrens,  which  is  common 
in  many  parts  of  the  South.  The  road  had 
been  changed  about  on  this  hillside  till 
there  were  five  or  six  parallel  tracks  and 
ditches  running  among  the  brush. 

A  bridge  of  Southern  style  spanned  this 
river.  Let  me  describe  it:  Three  cribs,  or 
pens  of  logs,  6x16  feet,  and  ten  feet  high, 
are  placed  about  twenty  feet  apart  in  the 
river.  These  are  connected  with  each 
other  and  wit*h  the  shore  by  four  round 
"sleepers"  to  each  span.  The  bridge  is 
then  floored  with  split  slabs,  or  puncheons. 
The  banks  of  the  river  were  about  as  high 
as  the  cribs. 

After  crossing  this  bridge  the  road  runs 
across  a  bottom  of  about  fifty  or  sixty 
yards,  and  then  turns  an  oblique  angle  to 
the  right,  and  keeps  along  the  foot  of  the 


24  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

hill  for  awhile.  A  field  fills  up  the  bottom 
land  between  the  road  and  the  river, 
reaching  down  to  the  bridge. 

When  we  came  to  this  bridge,  my  com- 
pany (C)  was  ordered  to  remain  behind  and 
guard  it  for  half  an  hour,  in  order  to  let  our 
stragglers  get  across,  and  then  to  burn  it. 

These  stragglers  were  men  whose  horses 
had  failed  in  the  run  of  the  three  days 
and  nights  since  we  started,  till  they 
couldn't  keep  up. 

Our  company  flanked  out,  and  as  soon  as 
the  rest  of  the  command  filed  past,  we  dis- 
mounted. Number  fours  took  our  horses 
up  around  the  turn  in  the  road,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  and  held  them. 

This  left  us  forty-nix  men  to  guard  and 
burn  the  bridge.  Tom  B—  -  was  detailed 
to  go  to  the  top  of  the  hill  in  the  bar- 
rens, and  stand  picket.  The  rest  of  us 
pulled  down  ten  or  fifteen  panels  of  rail- 
fence,  and  carried  the  rails  onto  the  bridge 
for  kindling,  and  built  up  a  good  fire  on 
the  ground  to  have  plenty  of  brands  to 
stick  into  it  when  the  word  should  be 
given. 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  25 

The  memory  of  that  night  forms  a  clear, 
distinct  picture.  As  our  fire  burned  in  the 
road,  lighting  up  the  bridge  and  shining 
against  the  trees,  and  throwing  dark  shad- 
ows on  the  muddy  waters  in  the  river, 
forty-five  men  stood  and  looked  each  other 
in  the  face.  Not  a  solitary  straggler  had 
come  to  the  bridge  since  we  stopped. 
What  did  it  mean?  To  the  old  soldier  it 
meant  that  the  sleepless  foe  was  near.  It 
might  be  a  good  time  to  think  of  home 
and  friends,  or  we  might — 

"Who  goes  there?" 

"Who  the  — are  you?" 

Bang!  Bang! 

It  was  Tom's  challenge,  and  the  answer 
left  no  doubt  as  to  who  was  challenged. 
One  bullet  went  singing  to  the  north,  the 
other  buried  itself  in  the  bridge  at  our 
feet.  Tom  came  down  the  hill  double- 
quick.  He  did  not  know  whether  he  hit 
his  man  or  not. 

We  stuck  our  fire  among  the  rails  and 
retreated  to  the  bend  in  the  road.  Just 
around  the  turn  the  road  was  washed  out 
into  a  kind  of  ditch,  and  by  lying  down 


26  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

in  it,  we  had  a  full  sweep  of  the  bridge 
through  the  bottom  crack  of  the  rail- 
fence.  Here  we  halted  to  watch  our  fire 
till  it  would  get  beyond  the  possibility 
of  being  put  out. 

For  a  few  minutes  all  was  still.  Our  fire 
was  beginning  to  take  hold  of  the  bridge, 
and  we  were  thinking  of  running  for  our 
horses,  when  suddenly  a  sheet  of  flame 
flashed  out  of  the  brush  for  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  up  the  river,  followed  by  a  tremen- 
dous crash. 

They  had  crept  up  and  formed  in  silence, 
and  were  pouring  a  deadly  fire  into  the 
thicket  that  lined  the  south  bank.  After  a 
few  rounds  and  no  reply,  we  heard  the 
command: 

"Onto  the  bridge  and  throw  off  that 
fire.  Quick!" 

About  a  hundred  men  came  out  of  the 
brush  and  crowded  onto  the  bridge. 

We  lay  in  that  ditch,  and  thrust  the 
muzzles  of  our  guns  through  the  lowest 
crack  in  the  fence.  They  were  in  a  strong 
light.  We  waited  until  the  bridge  was 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  27 

full,  and  the  foremost  man  had  reached 
the  fire  and  began  to  throw  off  the  rails. 
Then  we  let  them  have  it.  The  range  was 
about  seventy-five  yards.  Some  fell  on  the 
bridge,  some  went  over  its  sides  into  the 
river,  and  some  retreated.  We  cleared 
the  bridge;  nobody  could  stand  our  well- 
directed  fire.  We  drew  their  fire  toward 
us.  A  shower  of  balls  battered  against  the 
fence,  and  as  many  passed  over  us,  but 
we  were  not  hit.  We  never  attempted  to 
answer  their  fire;  but  whenever  a  man 
showed  himself  about  the  bridge,  we 
plugged  him. 

The  fire  got  under  good  headway,  and 
we  slipped  up  that  ditch  and  ran  to  our 
horses,  mounted,  and  made  our  best  speed 
to  overtake  our  command.  We  caught  up 
just  as  morning  began  to  dawn.  As  soon 
as  it  was  light  we  halted  to  feed;  but  be- 
fore our  horses  were  half  done  eating,  the 
rebels  were  upon  us  again.  Knowing  the 
country  better  than  we  did,  they  had  cross- 
ed the  river  at  another  place,  and  dashed 
on  to  cut  us  off  from  Chattahoochee. 

We  tried  to  make  a  stand,  but  they  out- 


28  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

numbered  us,  and  flanked  us,  and  we  were 
forced  to  save  ourselves  by  flight. 

We  came  into  the  neighborhood  of  New- 
man, and  found  that  eight  thousand  in- 
fantry were  there  prepared  to  receive 
us.  With  these  fresh  troops  before  us  and 
Wheeler's  cavalry  behind  us,  we  found 
ourselves  in  a  fix.  But  worn  out  as  we 
and  our  horses  were,  we  charged,  and 
fought  our  way  to  the  right,  and  would 
have  reached  the  Chattahoochee  if  we 
could  have  found  a  road. 

By  this  time  we  were  demoralized.  We 
had  all  lost  confidence  in  McCook.  I  don't 
believe  there  was  a  man  in  the  brigade 
that  would  have  paid  any  attention  to 
him  after  we  passed  Newman.  But  curses, 
bitter  and  deep,  were  heaped  on  him  on 
all  sides. 

We  broke  up  into  squads,  following  our 
own  regimental  or  company  commanders, 
or,  still  worse,  two  or  three  old  comrades 
swearing  to  live  or  die  together,  and  going 
on  their  own  hook. 

A  good  many  of  us  stuck  to  Lieut.-Col. 
Kelley,  and  rode  through  the  woods  till  we 


PRISON   LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  29 

got  into  a  piece  of  swampy  ground  near 
the  river,  where  our  horses  mired.  We 
dismounted.  There  I  parted  from  Bomb- 
shell; a  better  mare  never  grew  upon  Ken- 
tucky bluegrass.  We  had  fared  together 
for  a  thousand  miles,  had  drank  and  bathed 
in  a  hundred  rivers.  She  had  never  known 
any  other  master,  and  I  was  more  partner 
than  master.  I  hope  she  died  in  that 
swamp,  and  that  no  Johnnie  ever  had  her 
to  show  as  a  trophy  of  that  chase,  or  rode 
her  against  that  flag  she  had  followed  so 
long.  Alas!  poor  Bombshell!  She  did  not 
fully^  understand  all  the  questions  involved 
in  the  war,  but  she  was  a  true  soldier. 

Leaving  our  horses,  we  tried  to  get  to 
the  river  on  foot,  intending  to  swim  it  and 
escape,  if  possible.  But  as  we  came  out  of 
the  jungle,  we  fronted  a  battalion  of  cav- 
alry. Their  guns  were  aimed. 

"Halt!" 

We  threw  up  our  hands,  and  they  rode 
down  on  us  to  receive  our  arms. 

We  had  in  Company  A  of  our  regiment 
a  man  who  deserted  the  rebels  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Perryville,  and  enlisted  with  us.  As 


30   .  PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE. 

the  reos  came  down,  he  recognized  his  old 
comrades,  and  knowing  he  would  be  shot 
anyway,  he  resolved  to  sell  his  life  for  all 
it  would  bring.  So,  as  they  came  up,  he 
shot  the  Major  through  the  heart,  killing 
him  at  once.  The  next  instant  he  fell 
among  us  riddled  with  balls,  and  his  rash 
deed  came  near  causing  the  death  of  every 
one  of  us. 

"Kill  every-  !"  cried 

a  rebel  officer  in  excitement. 

Just  then  we  saw  Wheeler  and  staff,  and 
called  to  him.  The  Johnnies  pointed  to 
their  dead  officer  and  claimed  treachery. 
But  the  General  ordered  them  to  guard  us 
as  prisoners,  and  not  to  shoot  any  one  who 
surrendered. 

They  took  charge  of  us. 

"Give  me  that  gun."  I  handed  it  up. 
"Give  me  your  cartridge-box."  "Here  it 
is."  "  Give  me  that  poncho — give  me  that 
blanket." 

I  think  the  troop  that  captured  us  was  a 
battalion  of  the  Third  Texas  Cavalry. 


CHAPTER  III. 


TAKEN  TO  ANDERSONVILLE. 

There  were  fifty  or  sixty  of  us  together 
when  captured  in  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 
After  disarming  us  we  were  taken  a  short 
distance  to  a  road.  Here  we  were  halted 
and  guarded,  while  the  rebs  scoured  the 
woods  and  continued  the  pursuit.  The  re- 
port of  firearms  was  heard  far  and  near, 
and  every  little  while  a  squad  of  prisoners 
would  be  added  to  our  company,  till  we 
numbered  over  three  hundred,  when  they 
started  us  toward  Newman. 

By  talking  together  we  learned  much 
of  the  extent  of  our  disaster.  We  learned 
(31) 


32  PRISON  LIFE  IN   DIXIE. 

from  some  of  Brownlow's  men  that  he 
had  crossed  the  Chattahoochee,  swimming 
his  horse;  a  few  of  his  men  gotacross  with 
him,  a  number  were  shot  in  the  river,  and 
those  who  told  me  the  story  were  cap- 
tured on  the  east  bank.  This  Col.  Brown- 
low  was  a  son  of  the  famous  old  Parson  of 
East  Tennessee.  He  had  a  good  deal  of  the 
Old  Parson  in  him,  and  owing  to  certain 
deeds  performed  in  former  raids  in  his  own 
country,  he  knew  it  was  best  for  him  to 
keep  out  of  rebel  hands.  I  was  glad  to 
learn  afterwards  that  he  succeeded  in 
reaching  our  lines,  much  to  their  dis- 
appointment. 

The  troops'  who  were  guarding  us  were 
Texans,  and  did  not  scruple  to  rob  us  of 
any  private  property  that  caught  their  eye. 
Our  ponchos  were  in  demand.  Then  they 
robbed  most  of  us  of  our  canteens.  Of 
course  we  gave  them  up  under  protest. 
None  but  an  old  soldier  can  appreciate 
our  loss  in  these.  We  also  swapped  hats 
and  boots  with  them,  utterly  destroying 
our  faith  in  the  old  maxim  that  "it  takes 
two  to  make  a  bargain." 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  33 

My  boots  were  too  small  for  any  that 
tried  them,  and  I  was  allowed  to  keep 
them;  but  my  neat,  soft  felt  hat  of  the 
Burnside  pattern,  was  lifted  off  my  head 
by  a  long-haired  fellow,  who  gave  me  in 
exchange  his  C.  S.  regulation  tile.  Every 
old  soldier  remembers  the  old  white  hats 
that  we  found  scattered  over  every  battle- 
field and  camp  ground  out  of  which  we 
chased  the  Johnnies,  from  the  Ohio  River 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

To  the  reader  who  was  not  in  the  army  I 
will  say,  the  hat  that  I  received  was  made 
of  white  wool,  felted  about  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  thick,  and  when  I  got  it  it  was  a  light 
gray  color,  and  was  about  the  size  and 
shape  of  an  old  washpan.  I  wore  it  to 
prison,  and  for  many  long  months  it  served 
me  for  a  shelter  from  the  hot  sun,  for  a 
cushion  to  sit  on  when  the  sand  was  too 
hot  to  be  comfortable,  and  for  a  pillow  at 
night.  After  sitting  around  in  the  rain  all 
day,  I  think  it  would  have  weighed  five 
pounds. 

When  they  got  ready  to  start  toward 
Newman,  we  were  marched  along  the  road 
3 


34  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

in  four  ranks,  with  Rebels  to  right  of  us? 
Rebels  to  left  of  us,  Rebels  in  front  of  us— 
it  spoils  the  poetry — Rebels  behind  us. 

They  rode.  We  walked.  It  was  hot  and 
dusty.  Remember  we  had  been  in  the 
saddle  both  the  preceding  nights,  and  were 
tired  and  sleepy. 

As  we  passed  a  house  one  of  the  rebel 
officers  called  at  the  gate  for  a  drink  of 
water.  A  nice-looking  lady  came  out,  ac- 
companied by  a  black  girl  who  bore  the 
pitcher.  She  gave  him  and  two  or  three 
others  a  drink,  and  they  gave  her  a  boast- 
ful account  of  how  they  had  scooped  us. 
She  then  turned  toward  us  and  our  guard, 
and  with  a  pleasant  smile  asked,  "  Would 
any  of  you  soldiers  like  a  drink?"  One  of 
our  boys  said,  "Madam,  I  would  like  a 
drink,  please."  The  smile  faded  out  and  a 
look  of  contempt  took  its  place,  as  she 
answered,  "You  low-flung,  thieving  Yank- 
would  I  give  YOU  a  drink  ?  Not  unless  it 
had  strychnine  in  it.  You  ought  to  be  hung, 
every  one  of  you!" 

I  write  this  incident  because  it  helps  to 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  35 

show  the  feeling  of  the  South  toward  the 
Union  army. 

We  got  to  Newman  about  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  and  were  put  in  an  old  cot- 
ton warehouse  and  closely  guarded.  When 
we  entered  that  warehouse  we  found  four 
or  five  hundred  of  our  comrades  already 
in.  Our  greetings  were  not  joyous,  the 
usual  form  being,  "What?  You,  too!  I  was 
in  hopes  you  had  escaped." 

They  kept  adding  to  our  numbers  till 
night,  and  by  that  time  a  majority  of  the 
command  that  left  Sherman's  lines  four 
days  before  was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
And  what  added  to  the  bitterness  of  our 
capture  was  that  we  felt  that  it  was  due 
to  the  incompetence  of  our  leader. 

They  kept  us  at  Newman  that  night  and 
the  next  day  while  they  mended  the  rail- 
road at  Palmetto.  As  soon  as  they  could 
get  a  train  through  they  moved  us  to  East 
Point,  a  junction  only  six  miles  from  At- 
lanta. Here  we  lay  one  night  and  day,  in 
hearing  of  Sherman's  guns.  From  there 
we  were  taken  to  Andersonville,  arriving 
there  about  noon,  August  2d. 


36  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

Andersonville  is  a  small  town  on  the 
Macon  &  S.  W.  R.  R.  At  that  time  it  did 
not  contain  over  a  dozen  houses,  and  most 
of  these  were  poor  shanties.  There  were 
only  two  or  three  respectable  residences. 
There  was  one  store,  kept  in  part  of  the 
depot  building,  and  a  cotton  warehouse. 
The  cotton  warehouse  is  to  a  Georgia  rail- 
road station  what  the  grain  elevator  is  in 
Iowa.  The  town  was  built  in  a  pine  forest, 
many  of  the  stumps  and  a  few  of  the  trees 
still  remaining  in  the  streets  and  yards, 
and  the  woods  encroaching  on  it  at  almost 
every  point. 

A  little  brook  ran  through  the  town,  fur- 
nishing a  natural  sewer  for  its  filth  and 
offal.  Just  east  of  the  village  was  the  rebel 
camp  of  three  or  four  thousand  troops, 
mostly  Georgia  militia,  composed  of  men 
too  old  and  boys  too  young  for  field  ser- 
vice. These  were  the  prison  guard. 

Still  farther  to  the  east,  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  station,  was  the  pen,  called 
by  the  rebs  "  Sumter  prison,7'  but  known 
all  over  the  North  as  Andersonville  Prison 
Pen.  This  pen  was  about  fifty  rods  long 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  37 

and  thirty-six  wide.  It  lay  across  the  same 
brook  that  ran  through  the  village  and  the 
rebel  camp.  The  stream  ran  to  the  east. 
It  divided  the  pen  into  two  parts,  known 
to  us  as  "  North  side "  and  "  South  side." 
North  side  contained  about  seven  and  a  half 
acres,  South  side  about  three  and  a  half. 

The  prison  wall  was  of  hewn  timber, 
placed  on  end  six  feet  in  the  ground,  and 
extending  twelve  feet  above  ground — mak- 
ing a  solid  wall  eight  inches  thick.  Near 
the  top  of  this  wall,  on  the  outside,  were 
platforms,  or  sentry-boxes,  with  sheds  built 
over  them  to  keep  off  the  sun  and  rain,  so 
that  the  guard  had  a  comfortable  place  in 
which  to  stand  and  watch  what  was  go- 
ing on  in  the  pen.  There  were  about  fifty 
of  these  boxes  around  the  stockade. 

There  were  two  gates,  a  "north"  and 
a  "  south "  gate,  both  on  the  west  side  of 
the  pen.  Here  again  north  and  south  have 
reference  to  sides  of  the  brook.  These 
gates  were  small  stockade  pens,  about 
thirty  feet  square,  with  heavy  doors,  open- 
ing into  the  prison  on  one  side  and  out- 
side on  the  other.  If  the  inner  door  was 


00  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

opened  the  outer  door  was    always  shut, 
and  vice  versa. 
There  was  another  wall  outside  the  one 

1  have  named,  about  two  hundred  feet  from 
it,   running  part  way  round.     This  outer 
wall  was  not  continuous,   but  had  large 
openings    in    it,   in    which    artillery    was 
placed  in  such  position  that  they  could 
rake  the  prison  with  grape  or  shell  if  they 
so  desired. 

From  the  north  side,  by  looking  over 
the  stockade  where  it  crossed  the  hollow, 
we  could  see  Wirtz's  headquarters  above, 
and  our  hospital  below.  From  the  south 
side,  in  looking  over  the  same  way,  we 
could  see  the  quarters  of  a  pack  of  blood 
hounds,  "the  old  Redfield,"  and  a  part 
of  the  town. 

EXPLANATION  OF  STOCKADE. 

(See  next  page.) 

1.  STOCKADE.  10  A  11.    OUTER  STOCKADES. 

2.  "DEAD  LINE,"  12.    EARTHWORK  FORTIFICATIONS. 
:{.   BROOK.  *  18.    LOCATION  OF  HOSPITAL. 

4.  SWAMP.  14.    PLACE     WHERE    THE    SUR- 

5.  REBEL  SCTTLERS.  GEONS  PRESCRIBED  FOR  THE 
t?.    BAKE-HOUSE  FOR  CORN-BREAD.  SICK  AND  ADMITTED  TO  THK 
8  &  9.    ENTRANCES,  HOSPITAL, 


PTCIRON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 


39 


10 

1 


•     9 


6   -r 


ZI 


V 


10 


11 

PLAN    OF   STOCKADE. 


12 


E 


12 


13. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


STRIPPED  AND  TURNED  IN. 

In  my  last  I  gave  you  a  general  descrip- 
tion of  the  Andersonville  pen.  The  guard 
who  took  us  from  East  Point  to  the  prison 
were  Tennessee  soldiers — Ninth  Tennessee 
Infantry,  I  think.  They  were  old  soldiers, 
and  they  treated  us  well. 

I  noticed  while  in  the  army,  and  have 
marked  it  since,  that  soldiers  who  were  in 
the  front,  on  either  side,  respect  each  other; 
while  the  post  guards  and  others  who  are 
always  in  the  rear  of  the  real  battle  line, 
have  a  great  contempt  for  the  prowess  of 
the  enemy. 

(40) 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  41 

When  our  train  came  to  a  stop  at  the 
Andersonville  depot,  we  saw  about  twenty 
men,  dressed  in  what  had  once  passed  for 
Confederate  uniforms,  but  so  ragged  and 
dirty  as  to  be  past  recognition.  They  were 
loading  wagons,  and  occasionally  one  of 
them  passed  close  to  the  train.  They 
never  looked  at  us,  but  as  they  passed 
close  by  they  were  repeating  over  and 
over,  as  though  they  would  forget  it,  this 
song:  "If  you  have  any  money,  hide  it. 
If  you  have  any  valuables,  hide  them." 

We  took  it  as  a  sign  and  acted  on  it. 
Some  ripped  a  small  hole  and  slipped 
money  in  the  hems  and  collars  of  blouses, 
some  in  boots — every  safe  place  you  could 
think  of.  I  had  one  ten-dollar  bill.  I  fold- 
ed it  small,  peeled  off  the  outside  leaf  of  a 
plug  of  "  Ole  Verginny,"  wrapped  it  care- 
fully around  my  bill,  and  laid  it  in  my 
cheek.  I  didn't  chew  that  quid  very  vigor- 
ously. 

As  the  rebs  had  to  detail  a  guard  of  mil- 
itia after  we  got  there,  we  had  ample  time 
for  all  this  hiding,  and  our  Tennessee 
guards  paid  no  attention  to  our  efforts. 


42  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

About  two  o'clock  the  guard  came  and 
took  us  off  the  cars.  They  inarched  us 
through  the  rebel  camp,  and  about  half 
way  between  it  and  the  pen,  on  a  sloping 
plain  of  bright  yellow  sand,  they  halted  us 
and  opened  us  into  single  ranks.  After 
waiting  awhile  here,  the  sun  roasting  our 
heads  and  the  sand  stewing  our  feet,  old 
Wirtz  came  out  with  a  squad  of  men  to 
search  us.  This  was  my  first  view  of  that 
notorious  Switzer.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
suit  of  white  duck,  with  a  Panama  hat,  and 
riding  a  white  horse. 

He  rode  down  our  lines  and  cursed  us 
for  being  raiders;  then  gave  his  commands 
so  that  all  could  hear: 

"  If  any  man  stoops  down,  or  sits  down, 
or  tries  to  hide  any  thing,  shoot  him!" 

"Strip  'im!  Take  eberyting  he  got!  I 
I  make  'im  tink  it  is  hell!" 

I  would  not  write  this  last  sentence  if  1 
thought  there  was  anything  profane  about 
it;  but  after  a  few  month's  suffering  in  that 
horrid  pen,  I  concluded  the  old  Dutchman 
had  not  even  used  the  hyperbole,  but  had 
simply  stated  a  fact  in  strong  language. 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  43 

Two  large  boxes  were  brought  to  put  the 
plunder  in,  and  the  search  was  begun. 
They  made  us  take  off  all  our  clothes  and 
lay  them  out  in  front  of  us,  and  stand  there 
naked  while  they  searched  them.  They 
turned  all  the  pockets,  then  felt  all  the 
seams  and  hems,  and  if  they  felt  a  lump, 
they  would  throw  that  garment  on  their 
pile.  They  took  and  kept  all  watches, 
rings,  knives,  money,  pipes,  and  even  pic- 
tures of  wives  and  sweethearts.  One  boy 
tried  to  make  out  that  he  could  not  get  his 
ring  off. 

"If  te  ring  no  come  off,  take  le  finger" 
said  Wirtz. 

After  they  were  satisfied  with  their  ex- 
amination, they  would  throw  back  such 
garments  as  they  allowed  us  to  have.  If 
we  had  any  extras  about  our  clothes  they 
kept  them.  I  went  through  and  retained 
shirt,  blouse  and  pants.  My  blouse  and 
pants  were  pretty  good,  my  shirt  was  well 
worn.  They  kept  my  boots,  but  allowed 
me  the  hat  I  received  of  the  Texan. 

I  learned  afterwards  that  they  did  not  al- 
ways strip  prisoners  quite  so  closely  as  they 


44  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

did  us.  A  whole  brigade,  captured  at  Ply- 
mouth, N.  C.,  and  called  by  the  other  pris- 
oners, "  Plymouth  pilgrims,"  came  into  the 
pen  with  their  blankets  and  overcoats. 
Their  good  luck  was  exceptional.  The 
Western  troops  were  stripped  worse  than 
the  Eastern,  and  cavalry  worse  than  in- 
fantry. Their  excuse  for  this  was  that  the 
Western  cavalry  was  always  raiding  and 
destroying  their  property. 

After  being  searched,  we  were  taken  to 
the  north  gate;  a  door  was  opened  in  the 
gate-pen  (a  kind  of  ante-room,  thirty  feet 
square),  and  ninety  men  were  crowded  into 
it.  The  door  was  then  closed,  and  another 
door  was  opened  into  the  prison,  and  we 
were  counted  again  as  we  passed  through. 
Then  a  new  ninety  were  let  in  and  counted 
through,  and  so  on  to  the  end.  1  never 
knew  why  they  kept  us  in  nineties,  but 
they  did.  Each  ninety  was  counted  every 
day,  and  we  drew  rations  from  that  count. 

Thus  we  entered  Andersonville  prison. 
Remember  it  was  about  thirty-six  by  fifty 
rods,  containing  about  eleven  acres,  with  a 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  45 

wall  twelve  feet  high  around  it,  and  a  little 
brook  running  through  it. 

About  twenty  feet  from  the  wall,  ran  a 
row  of  stakes  with  a  slender  rail  tacked  on 
them;  this  was  the  "deadline."  In  some 
places  the  rail  had  been  knocked  off,  and 
only  the  stakes  marked  the  boundary  be- 
tween life  and  death;  for  if  any  one  crossed 
the  line,  he  was  shot  without  warning. 

This  leads  me  to  make  a  remark  on  the 
"dead-lines,"  which  were  common  to  all 
Southern  prisons.  Sometimes  this  line  was, 
as  at  Andersonville,  within  a  stockade,  and 
the  guard  were  stationed  upon  the  wall  up- 
on the  alert  to  pick  off  any  unfortunate  who 
was  so  incautious  as  to  step  over.  In  some 
cases  the  prisons  were  temporary,  and  had 
not  even  a  stockade.  A  rope  wTas  drawn; 
and  if  any  prisoner,  for  the  sake  of  wood, 
water,  or  any  other  cause,  stepped  beyond 
it,  an  instantaneous  shot  warned  all  others 
to  beware  of  his  untimely  fate. 

When  our  command  got  in,  there  were 
thirty-three  thousand  men  in  that  pen!  Can 

«/  -*• 

you  realize  that  fact?    Take  the  entire  pop- 
ulation of  two  average  counties  in  Iowa 


46 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE. 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  47 

or  Illinois,  and  crowd  them  onto  eleven 
acres,  and  you  have  not  enough  then.  Re- 
duce it,  and  you  find  that  you  have  about 
eighteen  men  to  the  square  rod.  Some  of 
these  men  had  a  little  shelter  of  their  own 
providing.  Some  took  two  sticks  about 
four  feet  long,  stuck  them  in  the  ground 
about  six  feet  apart,  fixed  a  little- pole  from 
one  to  the  other,  fastened  one  edge  of  a 
blanket  to  the  pole,  and,  drawing  the  other 
edge  back  till  it  was  straight,  piled  sand 
enough  on  it  to  hold  it,  or  took  wooden  pins 
and  pinned  it  to  the  ground. 

Such  a  tent,  or  shade,  answered  for  four 
men.  I  have  known  six  to  occupy  one.  Of 
course  they  could  not  all  lie  down  under  it, 
but  they  could  all  squat  under  it  to  keep 
off  the  sunshine.  If  a  party  had  no  blanket, 
they  could  sometimes  make  a  substitute  by 
ripping  up  pants,  shirts,  jackets,  etc.,  and 
sewing  them  together.  These  garments 
were  obtained  by  stripping  the  dead. 

If  a. man  had  money,  he  could  buy  sacks 
(made  of  strong,  coarse  cotton  cloth)  of  the 
quartermaster  who  issued  our  rations.  At 
the  time  of  our  capture,  sacks  two  feet 


48  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

wide  and  three  feet  long  cost  two  dollars 
each  in  greenbacks,  or  eight  in  confed. 
Thread  to  sew  with  was  obtained  by  ravel- 
ing out  a  piece  of  sack.  Sometimes  we 
drew  rations  in  these  sacks,  and  could  keep 
them  until  ration  time  the  next  day.  When 
this  was  the  case,  we  were  bound  to  return 
the  sack  or  lose  our  next  ration;  but  we 
could  cut  off  the  bottom  of  it  two  or  three 
inches  and  not  be  detected,  if  we  sewed  it 
up  as  it  had  been.  These  strips  furnished 
thread  for  the  ninety. 

About  two  hundred  prisoners  were  de- 
tailed outside,  on  parole,  to  help  handle 
rations,  to  cook,  and  to  dig  trenches  to 
bury  in,  etc.  It  was  they  who  warned  us 
to  hide  our  money  at  the  depot.  They  slept 
in  the  gate,  or  ante-ro*om,  of  nights — at 
least  part  of  them  did.  Through  them  we 
obtained  the  stakes  and  poles  to  put  up  our 
meager  tents.  When  the  inside  door  would 
be  opened  of  a  morning,  they  would  pitch 
them  in  beyond  the  dead-line  to  their 
friends.  If  you  had  no  friend  out  on  parole, 
the  set,  two  stakes  four  feet  long,  and  a  pole 
six  feet  long,  would  cost  you  fifty  cents. 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  49 

The  "  Plymouth  pilgrims  "  nearly  all  had 
blanket  tents,  such  as  I  have  described,  and 
a  good  many  others  had  something  that 
would  at  least  partly  keep  the  sun  off;  but 
the  majority  of  that  vast  crowd  had  no 
shelter  of  any  kind.  They  entered  there 
stripped  and  robbed.  The  dew  beaded  their 
hair  and  beard  at  night,  and  they  sweltered 
under  that  burning  sun,  and  groveled  in 
that  roasting  sand  by  day.  What  had  they 
done  ?  Answered  their  country's  call,  and  fol- 
lowed its  flag. 


CHAPTER  V. 


HORRIBLE. 

All  the  space  was  claimed  and  occupied 
before  we  got  there.  Just  imagine  one  or 
two  of  those  half-faced  tents  on  every 
square  rod,  and  ten  or  twelve  men  without 
shelter  claiming  room  on  the  same. 

Some  one  claimed  every  foot.  The  first 
few  nights  we  just  dropped  down  wherever 
we  could  find  room  enough,  and  refused  to' 
move  for  threats,  curses,  or  lice,  and  we 
certainly  had  full  rations  of  each. 

Four  of  us  determined  to  stick  together, 
and  after  hunting  two  or  three  days  we 
found  a  place  six  feet  square,  about  the 
(50) 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  51 

middle  of  the  south  side.  Five  men  had 
owned  it,  but  three  were  dead,  and  the 
other  two  were  willing  to  vacate  for  a  small 
consideration.  We  bought  three  sacks  and 
made  us  a  shelter.  It  took  a  week  to  get 
used  to  the  horrid  place. 

During  this  crowded  period  we  drew 
cooked  rations.  Our  bread  was  made  of  un- 
sifted meal  and  water,  without  salt,  or  any- 
thing to  lighten  it;  baked  in  large  sheets 
about  two  inches  thick.  When  cut  up  into 
single  rations,  each  man  received  a  piece 
about  two  by  three  inches,  and  as  thick  as 
the  sheet  or  loaf.  In  addition  to  this,  we 
received  about  half  a  pint  of  cooked  beans 
or  peas.  They  were  raised  in  the  South  to 
feed  slaves,  and  were  called  the  "nigger 
peas,"  but  I  think  they  are  really  a  species 
of  coarse  black  bean.  There  is  one  thing  in 
favor  of  the  "  Pea  "  theory,  however.  They 
were  almost  invariably  full  of  bugs,  and  as 
issued  to  us,  the  bugs  were  the  only  season- 
ing they  had.  Once  in  a  while  a  small 
ration  of  rice  was  given  in  place  of  the 
beans.  About  twice  a  week  we  received  a 
small  ration  of  meat.  If  pork,  about  one 


PRISON   LIFE   IN  DIXIE. 

ounce  per  man;  if  beef,  about  two  ounces. 
Sometimes  in  place  of  the  meat,  we  drew 
about  two  spoonfuls  of  molasses  per  man. 

We  drew  our  rations  from  two  to  three 
o'clock  p.  M.  Whatever  we  got  we  ate  at 
once,  and  then  fasted  until  that  hour  the 
next  day.  We  were  hungry  all  the  time,— 
even  just  after  we  had  eaten.  This  hunger 
colored  our  conversation.  Drop  into  a 
group  of  talkers,  and  you  would  hear  some 
one  describing  a  feast  he  had  enjoyed;  or 
drawing  on  his  imagination  for  one  he  in- 
tended to  order,  if  he  ever  got  out  alive. 
One  poor  boy  who  lay  near  us  would  wind 
up  every  such  talk  with:  "Fried  pork,  sau- 
sage, and  pancakes  is  good  enough  for  me." 
Even  in  our  sleep  we  were  not  free;  but  our 
rest  was  full  of  dreams  of  loaded  tables, 
with  always  something  to  prevent  us  from 
partaking  of  their  viands,  till  we  would 
wake  up.  Like  the  old  toper  who  dreamed 
he  had  a  pint  of  whisky,  and  thought  to 
make  a  hot  punch,  but  while  his  water  was 
heating  he  woke  up.  He  turned  over, 
smacked  his  lips,  and  remarked:  "What  a 
fool  I  was  not  to  drink  that  cold!" 


54  PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE. 

At  least  two-thirds  of  the  men  were  sick. 
Half  of  them  had  diarrhea,  and  our  coarse 
rations  aggravated  the  disease.  Among  the 
older  prisoners  scurvy  was  common.  About 
five  thousand  men  were  past  helping  them- 
selves. They  were  lying  all  over  the  pen, 
many  of  them  half  naked,  under  a  burning 
sun,  and  stinking  in  their  filth.  They  could 
not  help  it,  poor  boys;  and  we  could  do 
nothing  for  them.  We  had  no  means.  The 
whole  camp  literally  swarmed  with  vermin. 
The  sand  was  full  of  fleas,  all  alive  with 
them.  Lice  crawled  every-where.  Flies 
swarmed  in  myriads.  Blow-flies  were  upon 
the  helpless,  the  dying  and  the  dead.  When 
the  sun  went  down  mosquitoes  came  in 
clouds  from  the  swamps  below.  One  mercy 
amid  this  woe,  was  that,  soon  after  a  man 
became  too  weak  to  help  himself  he  gen- 
erally became  unconscious. 

As  soon  as  a  man  was  dead  he  was  car- 
ried to  the  south  gate.  At  first  they  had  a 
shed  made  of  brush  outside  of  the  stockade, 
and  the  dead  were  carried  out  there.  But 
one  day  an  old  scurvy  skeleton  played  dead, 
and  was  carried  out  and  laid  with  the  rest. 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  55 

He  watched  his  chance  and  tried  to  crawl 
off  and  escape,  but  was  caught  and  brought 
back.  After  that  there  was  no  more  carry- 
ing outside,  but  we  piled  them  up  by  the 
dead-line  at  the  south  gate. 

We  had  a  rule  that  whoever  carried  out  a 
corpse  should  have  what  was  on  it.  That 
looks  bad,  but  it  was  all  the  chance  to  keep 
the  living  from  going  naked.  The  average 
mortality  during  August  was  one  hundred 
and  thirty  per  day. 

Every  forenoon  lay  at  the  south  gate  that 
hundred  and  thirty  naked,  haggard,  and 
horribly  discolored  bodies,  putrifying  in  the 
sun.  It  was  a  sight  to  sicken  the  stoutest. 
About  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  they  would 
come  in  with  a  wagon  and  pile  those  corpses 
into  it,  like  cord-wood,  and  haul  them  to 
the  old  red  field,  where  they  were  laid  side 
by  side  in  a  long  trench.  After  noon  that 
same  wagon  would  bring  in  our  rations. 

The  little  brook  flowed  with  a  gentle  cur- 
rent three  or  four  feet  wide  and  four  inches 
deep.  Just  below  the  dead-line,  where  it 
entered,  we  had  a  place  scraped  out  eight 
feet  wide,  by  twenty  long,  and  nearly  two 


56  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

deep.  We  kept  that  pool  as  clean  as  we 
could,  to  drink  from.  It  was  not  clean  even 
then,  as  the  filth  of  the  town  and  rebel 
camp  washed  into  it  from  above.  Below 
this  were  a  number  of  circular  pools  ten  or 
twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  two  feet  deep 
in  the  center,  to  wash  in.  There  was  al- 
ways a  crowd  about  these  pools,  from  early 
morning  till  late  at  night,  and  yet  I  believe 
half  the  men  in  that  pen  never  washed  at 
all.  So  many  were  discouraged  by  their 
afflictions,  and  losing  all  hope,  lost  decency 
and  self-respect  with  it,  and  laid  down  in 
their  filth  and  died. 

Near  the  brook,  on  each  side,  were  a  good 
many  holes,  or  shallow  wells,  dug  down  to 
its  level.  The  water  in  these,  being  filtered 
through  the  sand,  was  thought  to  be  purer 
than  the  brook  water,  though  none  of  it 
\vas  good. 

Below  the  wash  pools,  which  did  not  ex- 
tend half  way  down,  this  little  brook  be- 
came the  privy  sink  for  the  whole  camp.  I 
have  studied  for  a  week  how  I  might  write 
a  description  of  our  sufferings  and  leave 
this  out;  but  my  chapter  of  horrors  would 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  57 

not  be  complete  without  it.  Thirty  thou- 
sand men,  most  of  them  sick,  had  to  use 
about  one  hundred  yards  of  this  branch. 
Gradually  the  filth  clogged  up  the  opening 
in  the  stockade,  making  a  dam.  As  filth 
accumulated  it  rose  and  spread  out  over 
the  banks,  until  it  became  three  or  four 
feet  deep— spread  forty  feet  wide,  and  back- 
ed up  the  stream  seventy-five  yards — mak- 
ing in  our  midst  a  lake,  the  horror  of  which 
made  other  troubles  seem  light  by  com- 
parison. It  was  worked  over  and  over  by 
masses  of  great  slimy  maggots  an  inch 
long.  The  sun  pouring  his  heat  into  it  all 
day  generating  poisonous  gases.  At  night 
the  damp  air  was  loaded  with  a  stench  that 
cried  to  heaven  for  "vengeance.  It  became 
so  poisonous  that  if  any  one  having  a  sore, 
if  only  a  mosquito  bite,  should  by  accident 
step  into  the  nasty  mass,  it  would  cause 
gangrene. 

I  have  seen  men,  weak  and  sick,  stagger 
down  to  that  place  during  the  hot  part  of 
the  day.  The  foul  odors  and  the  heat  would 
overcome  them,  and  they  would  faint  and 
fall  into  the  reeking  mass.  Some  one  would 


58  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

drag  them  out  onto  the  dry  ground,  and 
they  would  lie  there  and  die  in  the  filth, 
those  great  slimy  maggots  crawling  over 
them,  even  in  their  nostrils  and  mouths  be- 
fore they  were  dead.  I  saw  five  men  die 
thus  in  one  day. 

If  I  alone  knew  these  things  I  would  be 
afraid  to  tell  them.  They  would  be  hard  to 
believe.  But  the  survivors  of  that  prison 
are  scattered  all  over  the  North..  Many  of 
them  are  men  of  known  character.  Ask 
any  of  them  if  I  have  exaggerated  or  even 
colored  this  description.  They  will  tell 
you,  No' 


CHAPTER  VI. 


PROVIDENCE. 

"How  did  you  spend  your  time?" 
For  a  while  we  could  hold  interesting 
chats.  But  we  soon  wore  out  all  the  inter- 
esting incidents  of  our  lives,  exhausted  our 
supply  of  anecdotes  and  stories;  and  were 
left  with  nothing  to  talk  of,  except  to  de- 
scribe different  dishes  of  food  that  we  want- 
ed, or  to  curse  the  rebels  for  their  treat- 
ment, and  to  grumble  at  our  Government 
for  not  exchanging  us.  These  were  stand- 
ard themes;  they  could  be  repeated,  in  the 
same  words,  every  day  in  the  month,  and 
(59) 


60  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

every  hour  in  the  day,  and  always  be  in- 
teresting. 

Among  all  those  crowds  a  good  laugh  was 
seldom  heard.  Our  gayest,  j oiliest  soldiers 
soon  became  gloomy  and  silent;  and  wit 
and  humor  took  on  the  morbid  form  of  say- 
ing grotesque  and  horrid  things  about  our 
misfortunes. 

The  study  of  human  nature  there  would 
fill  with  sadness  any  who  love  the  race. 
The  best  elements  seemed  to  die,  and  the 
worst  held  high  carnival  in  our  souls.  Men 
were  brutal,  selfish,  cross  and  mean  to  each 
other.  The  strongest  struggled  for  life,  and 
the  weak  died  without  pity.  A  dying  man 
might  ask  a  dozen  for  a  drink  before  he 
would  find  one  to  bring  it  to  him,  unless  he 
had  comrades  who  had  known  him  before 
he  got  into  the  pen.  Of  course  there  were 
a  few  exceptions.  Too  few.  Yet  these  men 
were  not  Modocs,  nor  Australian  bushmen. 
Some  of  them  belonged  to  the  rough  classes, 
but  many  were  refined,  cultivated  gentle- 
men, the  light  of  the  social  circle,  the  pride 
of  an  enlightened  home.  But  they  were 
treated  by  their  foes  worse  than  brutes 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  61 

Their  own  Government  refused  to  exchange, 
and  abandoned  them,  and  they  became  des- 
perate. 

Time  dragged  heavily.  Nothing  to  do; 
nothing  to  read.  Some  whiled  away  the 
hours  playing  chess.  "Where  did  you  get 
chessboards  and  men?"  We  marked  out  a 
place  on  the  ground  for  a  board,  and  made 
our  set  of  men  by  notching  sticks  so  that 
we  would  know  them.  When  we  moved  a 
piece,  we  stuck  it  in  the  ground  so  it  would 
stand.  I  learned  this  fascinating  game  with 
such  a  set.  Though  there  were  a  few  who 
had  boards  of  their  own  making. 

There  were  church  privileges  for  those 
who  wanted  them.  That  is,  there  were  four 
or  five  places  where  these  ragged,  scurvied, 
filthy,  vermin-eaten  wretches  met  twice  a 
week  and  tried  to  worship  God.  They  were 
generally  informal  social  meetings.  They 
sang  old-fashioned  hymns,  like  "0  thou 
fount,"  or  "'Rock  of  Ages," — hymns  that 
are  as  much  a  part  of  our  civilization  as 
the  steam  engine  is.  They  squatted  011  the 
ground,  and  slapped  mosquitoes,  and 
scratched,  while  one  of  their  number  read 


02  PRISON   LIFE   IN  DIXIE. 

a  portion  of  the  Scripture,  led  in  prayer,  or 
gave  an  exhortation. 

About  ten  or  fifteen  took  active  part,  but 
they  usually  had  a  large  audience  of  re- 
spectful listeners.  At  one  place,  on  the 
south  side,  near  my  quarters,  I  think  the 
average  audience  would  number  one  thou- 
sand. I  used  to  frequently  attend  as  a  lis- 
tener. There  was  no  attempt  to  preach  any 
doctrine  except  faith  in  God.  The  Scripture 
lessons  were  usually  from  Psalms,  and  some 
of  David's  prayers  for  his  enemies  sounded 
so  much  like  cursing  the  rebels  that  even 
the  carnal-minded  could  say  "Amen." 

While  writing  of  the  religious  exercises, 
I  will  not  omit  the  ministry  of  a  Catholic 
priest.  He  visited  the  prison  regularly,  giv- 
ing the  consolations  of  his  church  to  the 
sick,  shriving  the  dying,  and  sprinkling 
holy  water  on  the  dead.  He  was  willing  to 
talk  to  any  one  who  cared  for  religious  con- 
versation. He  seemed  very  industrious  and 
earnest  in  his  work. 

Suppose  that  of  the  thirteen  thousand 
buried  in  that  old  field,  there  will  be  one 
who  will  at  last  arise  justified  through 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  63 

Christ.  And  suppose  that  the  judgment 
shall  be  as  Jesus  described  it.  If  so,  of  all 
the  ministers  in  Georgia,  accessible  to  An- 
dersonville,  only  one  could  hear  this  sen- 
tence, "I  was  sick  and  in  prison  and  ye  vis- 
ited me,"  and  that  one  is  a  Catholic. 

Protestant  churches  may  warn  us  of  the 
danger  of  the  Papal  power,  but  till  some  of 
us  learn  this  lesson  of  visiting  the  prisons, 
the  hospitals,  the  plague-stricken  and  the 
outcast,  we  will  never  lead  the  masses  away 
from  Catholicism. 

During  August  we  had  several  thunder 
showers.  But  there  is  one  that  in  Ander- 
sonville  history  will  always  stand  alone  as 
eminently  "  the  storm." 

About  the  last  of  the  month  (I  had  no 
way  to  keep  dates  and  can't  remember  them 
exactly),  it  came  up  suddenly,  about  mid- 
day, accompanied  by  vivid  lightning  and 
loud  thunder,  and  a  rain-fall  such  as  is  call- 
ed the  bursting  of  a  water-spout.  With  the 
first  dash,  we  were  drenched.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  ground  was  covered  with 
water,  and  great  streams  were  rushing 
down  the  hillsides,  washing  deep  gullies 


PRISON   LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  65 

through  our  beds,  and  in  other  places  al- 
most burying  the  helpless  in  sand  and 
water.  And  still  it  rained.  The  lightning 
seemed  to  dance  over  the  ground,  and  the 
thunder  roared  like  a  park  of  artillery. 
The  brook  began  to  raise,  and  was  soon  too 
large  to  get  through  the  vents  made  for  it 
in  the  stockade.  It  dammed  up  at  both 
walls  till  it  almost  reached  the  top.  The 
upper  wall  gave  way,  and  a  flood  eight  or 
ten  feet  deep  and  fifty  wide  was  rushing 
through  th :  pen.  When  it  struck  the  lower 
wall,  it,  too,  fell  with  a  crash.  A  hundred 
brave  men  rushed  into  the  boiling  flood  to 
ride  out  on  it.  A  shell  from  the  battery 
fizzed  over  our  heads.  The  long  roll  sound- 
ed, and  the  whole  guard  rushed  to  the  open- 
ings, and  stood  in  the  rain  along  that  rush- 
ing stream  with  fixed  bayonets,  to  keep  us 
in.  The  storm  finally  spent  itself.  Clouds 
rolled  away.  The  sun  came  out.  The  an- 
gry waters  subsided.  The  rebs  went  to 
work  to  repair  the  walls. 

"What  of  it?"    That  reeking,  pestilential 
lake  of  filth,  that  I  described  in  the  last 
chapter,  was  gone.    A  sand-bar  three  or 
5 


66  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

four  feet  deep  was  formed  where  part  of  it 
had  been.  The  stream  had  formed  a  new 
channel  for  itself,  and  the  rest  of  it  was 
washed  out  to  the  very  bottom.  The  whole 
camp  was  washed;  the  sand  next  day  look- 
ed bright  and  clean  every-where.  But  that 
was  not  all. 

Between  the  dead-line  and  the  stockade, 
and  about  half-way  between  the  north  gate 
and  the  brook,  there  was  a  spring.  It  was 
noticed  soon  after  the  storm  by  some  of  the 
boys  who  lay  near  by;  but  they,  knowing 
the  ground  had  always  been  dry  there, 
thought  it  was  a  kind  of  wet- weather  spout, 
started  into  life  by  the  big  rain.  But  after 
a  few  days,  seeing  it  did  L;;t  abate,  they 
tied  their  cups  to  a  tent-pole,  and  reaching 
over  the  dead-line,  dipped  and  drank,  and 
called  it  the  best  water  in  the  pen.  Others 
fixed  dippers,  and  soon  there  was  a  goodly 
number  there  all  the  time,  for  a  drink  of 
the  bright,  pure  water. 

At  last  some  one  showed  it  to  the  Quar- 
termaster who  issued  our  rations,  and  in- 
terested him  in  the  matter.  He  gave  us 
boards  and  nails  to  make  a  "V"  trough, 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  67 

which  we  fixed  in  the  spring,  and  brought 
the  water  inside  the  dead-line. 

It  yielded  about  eight  or  ten  gallons  per 
minute  of  pure,  sweet  water — much  better 
than  could  be  found  in  the  pen,  even  by 
digging  for  it,  before;  and  till  the  prison 
was  destroyed,  in  April,  1865,  the  flow  never 
diminished.  From  earliest  dawn  till  far 
into  the  night,  a  crowd  was  at  the  spout 
waiting  turn  to  drink. 

The  pious  thanked  God  and  took  courage. 
The  marvelous  marveled.  The  rationalis- 
tic advanced  two  theories:  first,  the  stream 
had  always  been  there,  just  under  the  sur- 
face, and  being  overcharged  during  the 
storm,  it  burst  through;  second,  a  discharge 
of  lightning  struck  there  and  opened  the 
way  to  a  subterranean  reservoir.  Why? 
How? 

I  care  not  if  lightning  or  storm  is  his 
angel.  God  gave  us  drink! 


CHAPTER  VII. 


WRECKED. 

We  received  very  little  reliable  newe 
from  the  outside  world.  When  a  squad  ol 
new  prisoners  were  brought  in  they  gave  us 
the  latest  and  most  reliable  news  from  the 
department  of  the  army  to  which  they  be- 
longed. If  the  rebels  won  a  victory  any- 
where, the  Quartermaster  would  bring  in  a 
paper  at  ration  time,  and  read  us  the  ac- 
count of  it,  and  make  us  feel  as  bad  as  he 
could.  The  effect  of  these  reports  on  the 
prisoners  gave  me  a  chance  to  study  human 
nature.  If  he  read  a  report  of  rebel  success 
in  the  East,  the  prisoners  from  the  army  of 
(68) 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  69 

the  Potomac  were  filled  with  blues  and 
despondency.  But  if  he  read  an  Atlanta 
paper,  that  told  of  a  victory  in  Sherman's 
department,  the  Western  soldier,  in  tones 
of  perfect  contempt  for  the  whole  Confed- 
eracy, answered,  "Old  Bill's  leading  for 
your  Jack,"  or  he  dismissed  the  subject  en- 
tirely with,  "It's  a-  -  rebel  lie.*" 

I  think  the  reason  for  this  was  that  the 
Eastern  army  had  been  whipped  so  often 
that  they  had  learned  to  expect  it;  while  in 
Sherman's  army,  "to  fight"  and  "to  whip" 
were  synonymous. 

Once  in  a  while  we  got  a  fragment  of 
news  from  the  guard.  They  called  the  hour 
of  the  night  and  the  number  of  their  post, 
thus: 

"P-o-o-ost  number  one,  ten  o'clock,  and 
a-a-all's  right."  "  P-o-o-ost  number  two,  ten 
o'clock,  and  a-all's  right,"  all  around  the 
pen,  every  hour  from  dark  till  daylight. 
This  call  was  made  in  a  loud,  sing-song- 
monotone,  that  could  be  heard  all  over  the 
camp.  Sometimes  they  would  interpolate 
a  fragment,  thus: 

"Post  number  eight,  Lee's  falling  back, 


70  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

and  all's  well."  Or,  "  Post  number  thirteen, 
twelve  o'clock,  and  here's  your  mule." 

It  was  by  this  means  that  we  first  heard 
of  the  fall  of  Atlanta.  For  two  weeks,  we 
Western  troops  had  been  full  of  feverish 
excitement.  That  long  ago  we  had  read  in 
the  Atlanta  paper  that  Sherman  had  raised 
the  siege,  and  had  fallen  back  across  the 
Chattahoochee.  Every  day  we  begged  for 
more  news.  The  Quartermaster  told  us 
that  their  pickets  had  been  advanced  to  the 
river,  and  Sherman  was  certainly  gone. 
Scouts  had  been  across,  and  reported  no 
large  body  of  troops  this  side  of  the  Ken- 
esaw  mountains,  and  Sherman  was  doubt- 
less in  full  retreat  on  Chattanooga.  What 
could  it  mean?  The  rebels  evidently  be- 
lieved it,  and  were  rejoicing;  we  didn't — we 
wouldn't.  Still,  we  were  excited;  we  felt 
sure  that  "  Old  Billy "  was  playing  a  deep 
game,  but  we  wanted  to  see  him  "rake  the 
pot." 

Then  came  four  or  five  days  of  oppressive 
silence — no  news  of  any  kind.  We  were 
sure  something  was  being  done.  But  what? 
How  restless  and  eager  we  became! 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  71 

One  night  the  nine  o'clock  call  was  start- 
ed, and  ran  three  posts  as  usual;  but  the 
next  was  called: 

"P-o-ost  numbah  f-o-a-h,  nine  o'clock,  and 
Atlanta's  gone  to !" 

For  one  instant  the  camp  was  still.  In 
the  next,  "Did  you  hear  that  ?"  Then  they 
cheered.  Men  got  up  all  over  the  camp  to 
discuss  the  news.  The  midnight  call  went 
round  long  before  the  camp  got  quiet  again. 
What  if  we  were  hungry,  ragged,  filthy, 
and  vermin-eaten? — we  could  be  glad.  At- 
lanta was  gone! 

Early  in  September  the  rebs  began  to 
move  prisoners  away  from  Andersonville. 
They  told  us  that  they  were  taking  us  to 
Charleston  to  exchange  us.  But  they  had 
told  us  so  many  lies  of  that  kind  that  most 
of  the  prisoners  did  not  believe  them.  They 
took  out  two  or  three  train-loads  per  week. 

Four  or  five  train-loads  had  already  gone, 
when  one  day  Jess  M —  -  (a  kinsman  of 
mine)  came  to  me  and  said  that  his  "nine- 
ty "  was  ordered  to  be  ready  to  go  out  that 
afternoon;  and  that  I  could  go  out  with 
him,  on  a  dead  man's  name,  if  I  wanted  to. 


72  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

I  did  not  believe  the  exchange  talk;  but 
I  did  not  suppose  another  pen  would  be  any 
worse  than  the  one  we  were  in,  and  as  Jess 
was  my  only  accessible  relative,  and  I  loved 
him  as  if  he  were  my  brother,  I  decided  to 
go  with  him. 

About  four  o'clock  p.  M.,  a  heavy  guard 
marched  down  to  the  south  gate,  and  called 
for  the  detachments  that  had  been  notified 
that  morning.  Nine  hundred  and  sixty 
men  were  taken  out  and  marched  to  the  de- 
pot. There  we  waited  till  sundown,  when 
our  train  backed  in.  We  were  put  in  twelve 
box  cars — eighty  men  to  a  car!  We  could 
not  sit  or  lie,  Think  of  that! — and  excuse 
it  who  can.  Such  cruelty  is  worthy  of  the 
period  of  slave  ships,  or  the  men  who  sailed 
them. 

Two  days'  rations  of  corn  bread  and  ba- 
con were  put  in  each  car;  three  companies 
of  guards  were  distributed  over  the  train, 
most  of  them  on  top  of  the  cars.  The  offi- 
cers that  were  detailed  to  go  took  the  ca- 
boose, and  the  train  started  out  just  as  twi- 
light deepened  into  night. 

Where  were  we  going  ? 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  73 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  to  divide  our  ra- 
tions, so  we  had  to  let  two  or  three  men 
keep  them  till  morning.  We  didn't  like  to, 
but  couldn't  help  it. 

We  ran  six  or  seven  miles,  were  running 
down  grade  in  a  cut,  when,  suddenly,  the 
car  seemed  to  be  lifted  several  feet  high, 
and  dropped.  It  came  down  with  a  crash. 
Part  of  the  timbers  of  the  floor  broke  up- 
ward into  the  middle  of  the  car,  hurling  its 
mass  of  living  freight  toward  the  ends.  At 
the  same  time  two  corners  were  crushed  in 
and  two  burst  outward.  For  a  few  seconds 
there  was  a  loud  crashing  of  timber;  then 
groans,  shrieks  and  wails,  and  the  noise  of 
escaping  steam,  were  the  only  sounds. 

As  quick  as  I  could  think  what  had  hap- 
pened, I  found  myself  on  top  of  a  squirm- 
ing, writhing  mass  of  men.  A  few  strug- 
gles placed  me  at  an  opening  made  by  the 
outward-bursted  corner.  I  stuck  my  feet  out 
first,  crowded  through,  and  dropped  to  the 
ground.  I  think  I  was  the  first  man  out  of 
our  car.  The  engine  lay  in  the  ditch,  with 
its  head  buried  in  the  bank.  The  first  three 
cars  lay  over  against  the  bank  just  behind 


74  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

it,  and  were  not  much  damaged.  The  fourth 
(the  one  I  was  in)  lay  with  one  end  against 
i  the  rear  of  these,  and  the  other  end  on  the 
track;  it  having  stopped  the  momentum  of 
the  train  in  that  position  was  what  crushed 
it  in  the  peculiar  manner  described.  The 
fifth  was  the  worst  wreck  of  all,  the  sixth 
having  telescoped  it  from  end  to  end.  The 
forward  end  of  the  sixth  was  crushed  in; 
the  rest  stood  on  the  track  undamaged. 

As  soon  as  I  felt  solid  ground  beneath  my 
feet,  and  realized  that  I  was  not  seriously 
hurt— the  guard  were  all  in  confusion  and 
out  of  place — the  thought  came  to  me  like 
an  inspiration,  "Now  is  the  time  to  escape! 
Run  for  life!" 

I  started  on  the  impulse,  almost  without 
thinking.  I  rushed  past  the  engine  into  the 
darkness.  I  must  have  run  one  hundred 
yards;  I  knew  I  was  outside  the  guard. 
The  moans  of  the  dying  and  shrieks  of  the 
wounded  sounded  a  good  distance  off. 

Then  came  the  thought,  "  You  are  leaving 
Jess.  He  may  be  killed  or  crippled  in  the 
wreck."  I  hesitated — stopped  short.  I  was 
not  willing  to  go  on  without  Jess,  or  at 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  75 

least  a  knowledge  of  his  fate.  I  ran 
back.  Men  were  getting  out  of  all  the  cars. 
I  reached  ours,  and  called.  He  answered 
from  under  the  car,  and  came  out. 

"Jess,  are  you  hurt?" 

"No." 

I  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Let's  run  off'." 

He  answered,  "We  couldn't  get  away. 
They  would  catch  us." 

"Yes  we  can.  There  isn't  a  guard  on 
duty." 

Well,"  said  he,  "they  will  bring  out  the 
hounds  in  the  morning,  and  track  us  up." 

"Nevermind  the  hounds!" 

I  will  say  for  the  general  reader,  that  sol- 
diers usually  pronounced  "  never  mind  "  as 
a  word  of  one  syllable,  accented  all  the 
way  through. 

I  was  excited,  nervous,  vexed,  impatient. 
I  felt  like  every  minute  was  worth  a  life- 
time. Jess  was  trying  to  get  hold  of  the 
meat  that  had  not  been  divided.  That  was 
what  he  was  doing  under  the  car  when  I 
came  up.  He  seemed  so  indifferent,  that  I 
said  to  him: 

"If  you  won't  go,  I  will  go  alone!" 


76  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

"All  right,"  said  he;  "wait  a  minute  and 
I'll  get  you  a  piece  of  meat." 

He  went  under  the  car  and  soon  returned 
with  a  good  piece  of  bacon.  I  took  it  and 
started.  But  alas!  while  I  dallied  with 
Jess,  the  guard  recovered  from  its  panic, 
and  had  formed  a  line  around  the  wreck. 
Just  below  the  engine  I  was  halted  and  or- 
dered back. 

My  disappointment  was  hard  to  bear. 
Oh,  how  I  wished  that  I  had  kept  on  when 
I  was  free,  and  had  left  Jess  to  his  fate! 

I  went  back  to  the  wreck,  and  went  to 
work  with  all  my  might  to  help  rescue  the 
maimed  and  dead  from  the  debris.  We 
took  out  ninety-eight  Yanks  and  twenty- 
four  rebs,  who  were  badly  wounded,  and 
twenty-six  Yanks  and  eight  rebs,  dead;  a 
total  of  thirty-four  killed,  and  one  hundred 
and  twenty-two  badly  hurt. 

Such  a  disaster,  in  time  of  peace,  would 
fill  with  horror  the  whole  country;  and  yet 
I  doubt  if  a  score  of  our  vast  army  of  read- 
ers ever  heard  of  this  accident  before.  I 
am  of  the  opinion  that  this  is  the  first  time 
the  history  of  that  wreck  has  ever  been 
in  print. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


PLANS   OF   ESCAPE. 

Rebels  and  Yanks  worked  together  till 
the  wounded  were  all  out  of  the  wreck, 
which  was  probably  about  midnight.  We 
did  not  get  all  the  dead  out  till  daylight 
next  morning. 

A  construction  train  came  down  next 
morning,  unloaded  its  gang  of  men,  took  up 
the  wounded,  and  returned  to  Anderson- 
ville.  It  returned  about  noon,  and  after 
getting  the  debris  out  of  the  way,  and  get- 
ting all  the  cars  that  could  be  run  on  the 
track,  they  took  us  back  to  the  pen. 

One  of  the  smashed  cars  was  covered  with 
(77) 


78  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

a  tin  roof,  of  which  I  secured  a  piece  about 
20x24  inches,  and  after  getting  into  prison, 
I  made  me  a  nice  pan,  by  turning  up  about 
four  inches  all  around.  It  proved  to  be  a 
very  valuable  piece  of  property  after  we 
began  to  draw  our  rations. 

When  the  train  came  back  after  taking 
the  wounded,  they  brought  the  bloodhounds 
and  took  a  circuit  around  the  wreck  before 
we  left.  This  gave  Jess  the  exquisite  hap- 
piness of  saying,  "I  told  you  so!" 

Of  course,  in  such  a  crowd,  there  were  al- 
ways men  studying1  plans  of  escape.  When 
the  camp  was  new,  and  only  one  stockade 
stood  between  the  prisoner  and  freedom, 
there  were  many  attempts  to  tunnel  out. 
To  do  this  required  much  caution  and  labor. 
A  well  was  dug  about  eight  or  ten  feet  deep, 
and  from  the  bottom  of  this  a  tunnel  was 
run  horizontally  to  pass  under  the  wall,  and 
then  rise  to  the  surface.  The  work  had  to 
be  done  by  night, -and  the  hole  kept  hid  by 
day.  The  best  tools  that  we  could  obtain* 
were  a  case-knife  and  half  of  an  unsoldered 
canteen  for  digging,  and  a  haversack  to 
carry  out  the  dirt.  A  good  substitute  for 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  79 

the  haversack,  and  one  often  used,  was  a, 
pants-leg  tied  up  at  one  end.  To  prevent 
caving  in,  the  hole  was  made  as  small  as 
possible — I  think  about  twenty  inches  in 
diameter,  just  large  enough  for  a  man  to 
crawl  through. 

After  a  tunnel  was  well  under  way,  a 
man  with  such  an  outfit,  with  two  strings 
to  his  sack  as  long  as  the  tunnel,  would,  by 
feet  and  elbows,  work  his  way  to  the  end 
of  the  hole,  pick  the  dirt  loose  with  his 
knife,  and  with  the  half  canteen  scrape  it 
into  the  sack ;  then  a  comrade  at  the  mouth 
would  pull  the  sack  along  by  one  string,  he 
keeping  the  end  of  the  other  to  pull  it  back. 
A  third  man  would  take  the  dirt  away  in 
another  sack,  pants-leg  or  blouse-sleeve, 
and  scatter  it  where  it  would  not  be  no- 
ticed. 

A  man  could  hardly  get  his  breath  in  the 
tunnel;  and  owing  to  the  sandy  nature  of 
the  ground,  there  was  always  danger  of 
caving  in. 

It  was  hard  to  keep  it  secret,  for  there 
were  men  in  the  pen  mean  enough  to  tell 
the  rebels  of  any  such  attempt.  There  was 


80  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

a  fellow  (he  died  at  Savannah)  who  wore  a 
large  "T"  on  his  forehead.  He  informed 
on  a  tunnel  company  when  they  were  near 
ly  through,  and  they  made  the  "  T  "  with  a 
hot  railroad  spike.  After  that,  when  a 
sneak  reported  on  his  fellow-prisoners,  the 
rebs  took  him  out  of  the  pen,  and  we  saw 
him  no  more. 

If  all  these  dangers  and  difficulties  were 
surmounted,  and  the  tunnel  was  opened, 
the  rebs  would  find  the  hole  the  next  day, 
and  start  the  bloodhounds  from  it. 

Oh,  those  hounds!  How  we  dreaded 
them!  Let  the  beasts  once  catch  the  scent 
of  a  poor  fugitive,  and  he  was  "gone  up." 

After  the  outer  stockade  was  built,  it 
greatly  increased  the  difficulty  of  tunnel- 
ing, as  it  would  require  a  length  of  about 
two  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  to  safely 
pass  under  both  walls.  Still  there  were 
men  desperate  enough  to  attempt  it. 

One  company,  after  weeks  of  toil  and 
danger,  on  a  rainy  night  in  August,  opened 
their  hole,  and  crawled  to  the  outer  world. 
I  think  there  were  fifteen  or  twenty  went 
through,  though  there  were  so  many  con- 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  81 

flicting  reports  that  I  do  not  pretend  to 
give  exact  numbers. 

The  gang  of  Johnnies  that  came  every 
morning  to  count  the  nineties,  found  the 
deficit  and  reported  it.  We  were  notified 
from  headquarters  that  we  would  get  no 
rations  till  those  men  were  found.  We  did 
not  believe  it;  we  thought  it  was  done  to 
scare  us  We  only  got  one  scanty  little 
feed  each  day  anyhow,  and  we  didn't  think 
we  could  live  if  we  missed  that.  As  the 
hour  when  they  fed  us  drew  near,  thousands 
of  hungry  men  watched  the  gate.  The  hour 
passed.  What  terrible  suspense  as  the  next 
hour  dragged  along!  Slowly  the  sun  went 
down  behind  the  dark  pines.  I  thought  I 
would  try  to  describe  our  feelings  as  that 
day  went  out;  but  I  can't.  I  shall  not  try 
it.  I  have  no  words.  I  give  you  the  bare 
fact — thirty  thousand  men,  already  in  a 
starving  condition,  fasted  forty-eight  hours 
to  gratify  the  malice  of  those  officers,  be- 
cause fifteen  or  twenty  men  had  outwitted 
them. 

The  next  day  they  were  brought  back, 
6 


82  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

some  of  them  badly  torn  and  mangled  by 
the  bloodhounds. 

There  were  some  other  plans  of  escape 
tried,  but  they  were  almost  invariably  fail- 
ures, and  are  not  worth  mention.  I  did  re- 
fer to  one — the  man  who  was  taken  out  as 
dead. 

There  was  a  drummer  boy,  whose  smooth 
face  and  childish  voice  called  for  sympathy. 
He  was  rapidly  wasting  away,  and  his 
friends  were  anxious  to  save  him.  The 
beans  were  brought  in  barrels,  which  were 
set  on  the  ground  to  be  emptied,  and  the 
empty  barrels  taken  out  in  the  last  wagon 
that  came  in.  One  day  a  barrel  was  turned 
over  on  its  side  to  scrape  out  all  the  beans; 
the  boy  squatted  at  its  mouth,  and  when 
the  Quartermaster's  back  was  turned,  it  was 
turned  bottom-upward  over  him.  When 
the  last  load  came  in,  two  men  set  that 
barrel  up  in  the  wagon  without  turning  it 
over.  The  boy  got  out  all  right,  but  was 
caught  and  brought  back  next  day.  He 
didn't  last  long  after  that.  Three  or  four 
weeks  later,  he  was  put  in  a  wagon  at  the 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  83 

other  gate.  That  time  we  knew  that  he 
would  never  be  sent  back. 

My  experience  the  night  of  the  wreck  set 
me  thinking.  I  knew  it  was  next  to  impos- 
sible to  get  away  from  the  pen.  But  they 
would  probably  ship  more  prisoners  away. 
Could  a  man  jump  from  a  train  and  escape? 
I  believed  it  could  be  done.  That  thought 
once  in  my  mind,  stayed  there. 

I  hunted  up  several  men  who,  at  sundry 
times  and  in  divers  manners,  had  tried  to 
reach  our  lines  and  failed.  From  them  I 
learned  of  the  dangers  to  be  encountered 
after  getting  out. 

The  South  lived  in  a  constant  dread  of  a 
slave  insurrection,  and  to  guard  against  it 
the  whole  country  was  kept  under  vigilant 
surveillance. 

If  a  stranger  was  seen,  he  was  at  once  ar- 
rested, and  made  to  account  for  himself. 
At  night  the  roads  were  all  patrolled  by 
mounted  provost  guards.  A  man  to  be 
safe,  would  have  to  keep  well  hid  by  day, 
and  keep  away  from  all  traveled  roads  at 
night.  To  travel  four  or  five  hundred  miles 
and  comply  with  these  conditions  is  a  big- 


84  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

ger  job  than  it  looks  to  be  till  you  have 
worked  at  it  for  a  week  or  two.  The  ques- 
tion of  subsistence  makes  the  problem  still 
harder. 

After  getting  all  the  knowledge  and  hints 
I  could,  I  told  Cudge  S.,  and  asked  him  to 
go  with  me.  He  would  not  risk  it.  I  tried 
Tom  B.  He  heard  my  plan,  and  gave  me 
his  hand  on  it. 

Our  plan  was  to  be  taken  out,  if  possible, 
so  as  to  leave  in  the  evening,  so  that  night 
would  be  on  the  first  part  of  the  road;  to 
jump  off  at  some  point  before  we  reached 
Macon;  then  to  travel  northwest  until  we 
reached  the  Chattahoochee,  and  reached 
the  high  mountainous  divide  between  it 
and  the  waters  of  the  Tombigbee;  thence 
north  till  we  would  reach  our  lines,  some- 
where between  Big  Shanty  and  Resaca. 

We  expected  a  four  hundred  miles  trip, 
and  thought  we  could  make  it  in  a  month. 
We  expected  to  keep  hid  by  day  till  we 
reached  the  wooded  hills  of  Alabama,  when 
we  hoped  to  be  able  to  travel  a  little  by 
day. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A   LEAP   FOR   FREEDOM. 

About  the  first  of  October  Tom  and  I 
found  the  opportunity  to  suit  us.  The  train 
was  loaded  and  guarded  about  as  the  wreck- 
ed one.  We  received  two  days'  rations — a 
piece  of  corn  bread  about  the  size  of  a 
brick  to  each  man — no  meat  this  time. 
Only  one  guard  in  our  car,  and  four  or  five 
on  top. 

If  was  about  eleven  o'clock.  The  train 
was  running  ten  or  twelve  miles  per  hour. 
The  men  were  quarreling,  growling  and 
swearing  because  they  were  too  weak  and 
tired  to  stand,  and  had  not  room  enough  to 
(85) 


86  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

lie  down.  The  guard  had  braced  himself 
against  one  side  of  the  open  door.  There 
were  no  lights  on  the  train  except  on  the 
engine  and  caboose.  All  the  rest  was  dark 
as  any  other  freight  train.  Tom  and  I 
worked  ourselves  over  close  to  the  door. 
We  stood  and  looked  out  at  the  star-light 
night.  We  tried  to  seem  indifferent,  and 
growled  for  room,  like  the  rest.  But  I  felt 
strangely  depressed.  Some  demon  of  cow- 
ardice would  keep  whispering  to  me:  "  You 
will  probably  dash  your  brains  out;  or  you 
will  be  seen  by  the  guard  and  shot  to  death; 
or  may  be  you  will  only  break  a  few  bones, 
so  you  can't  get  away,  and  you  will  linger 
and  die  a  cripple,  and  your  friends  will 
never  know  what  has  become  of  you." 

These  dark  probabilities  would  keep  pre- 
senting themselves,  and  I  had  to  fight  them 
back.  Finally  we  sat  down  in  the  door.  We 
put  our  feet  out — then  drew  them  in,  and 
squatted  there;  then  hung  them  out  again. 
We  talked  of  many  things  to  those  next  to 
us;  but  all  the  time  we  thought  of  only  one 
thing.  We  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
floor,  with  our  feet  hanging  out  at  the  door. 


PEISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  87 

The  guard  saw  us,  but  paid  no  attention. 
He  doubtless  thought  we  had  more  sense 
than  to  jump  off  a  running  train.  We  ran 
into  a  cut  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  deep.  It 
was  dark.  I  nudged  Tom.  He  nodded.  I 
put  my  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  floor  and 
dropped  off.  I  struck  in  the  ditch.  The 
motion  of  the  train  hurled  me  violently 
against  the  ground,  but  it  was  soft  mud  and 
water.  I  lay  very  still  till  the  train  went 
by.  When  it  got  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  up  the  road  I  got  up.  I  was  not 
hurt.  All  those  presentiments  of  danger 
had  miscarried.  My  feelings  arose  accord- 
ingly. I  was  sure  now  that  I  would  reach 
our  lines.  I  walked  along  the  railroad  in 
the  direction  the  train  had  gone.  Tom  was 
about  two  hundred  yards  from  where  I  fell. 
I  asked  why  he  didn't  jump  out  sooner.  He 
said  the  train  seemed  to  him  to  go  faster 
after  I  jumped.  He  fell  on  harder  ground, 
and  had  bruised  his  shoulder. 

We  climbed  out  of  the  cut,  sat  on  the 
fence,  and  looked  at  the  north  star — 
that  friend  universal  of  wandering  man. 
Now  for  four  hundred  miles  of  star-light 


88  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

walking,  bearing  ever  a  little  west  of  that 
star.  Tom  had  a  pair  of  miserable  old 
boots.  I  was  barefooted.  We  each  had  a 
blouse  and  pants  in  tolerable  preservation. 
Our  shirts  were  worn  out.  We  had  no  bag- 
gage, no  tools — not  even  a  pocket-knife. 
We  were  outlaws.  Not  a  crime  in  the  cata- 
logue would  so  surely  alienate  us  from 
everybody  and  debar  us  from  sympathy,  as 
the  fact  that  we  were  U.  S.  soldiers  in 
Dixie. 

We  jumped  off  the  fence  and  started. 
Our  hearts  were  stout,  if  our  legs  were  a 
little  shaky.  We  traveled  across  corn  and 
cotton  fields  till  gray  light  streaked  the 
eastern  horizon,  then  entered  a  thicket,  and 
as  it  grew  light  we  worked  our  way  into  it. 
It  proved  to  be  a  large  cypress  swamp,  sur- 
rounded by  a  dense  thicket.  By  the  edge 
of  the  oozy  swamp  we  broke  off  twigs  and 
branches  of  trees,  and  made  us  a  bed,  and 
as  the  sun  mounted  up  the  sky,  we  stretch- 
ed our  weary  limbs  and  slept. 

We  agreed  to  watch  and  sleep  by  turns; 
but  I  think  the  watcher  slept  as  soundly  as 
the  sleeper.  The  one  thing  we  dreaded  was 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  89 

the  possibility  of  prowling  hounds  tracking 
us  up  and  calling  attention  to  us  by  their 
bark;  but  here  we  felt  safe,  for  on  a  log,  not 
more  than  fifty  feet  away  in  the  swamp, 
lay  an  alligator  about  ten  feet  long,  and  we 
knew  no  hound  would  care  to  hunt  along 
the  shore  of  that  swamp.  The  reptile  lay 
there  for  two  hours  about  the  middle  of  the 
day,  and  we  regarded  him  as  a  friend,  al- 
though we  did  not  desire  any  closer  in- 
timacy. 

In  the  afternoon  we  ate  one  ration  of  our 
bread,  and  before  the  sun  went  down  we 
worked  our  way  through  the  jungle  to  its 
northwest  end;  from  which,  as  soon  as  it 
grew  dark,  we  again  set  forth  on  our  jour- 
ney, crossing,  fields,  woods,  roads  and 
streams.  We  traveled  quietly.  When  we 
came  onto  a  road,  we  stopped,  listened,  and 
if  we  heard  no  sound  we  crossed  it  quickly. 
Even  if  it  ran  our  course  we  would  not  fol- 
low it,  for  fear  of  meeting  a  patrolman. 

During  this  second  night  we  came  onto  a 
field  of  sweet  potatoes.  We  dug  and  ate 
some  of  them,  and  put  some  in  our  blouse 
pockets  for  next  day.  We  traveled  well 


90  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

that  night,  going  probably  twenty  miles; 
but  before  day  we  ran  into  a  swamp  on  our 
track,  and  being  tired,  we  stopped  and  wait- 
ed for  light,  when  we  worked  into  it,  and 
spent  the  second  day  much  as  we  did  our 
first.  We  ate  the  last  of  our  bread  and  as 
much  new  sweet  potato  as  we  dared. 

The  third  night  we  had  a  hard  time.  Our 
course  lay  mostly  through  woods,  and  we 
ran  into  three  or  four  swamps,  and  had  to 
make  wide  detours  to  pass  around  them. 
We  did  not  make  many  miles  headway  that 
night.  The  next  day  we  were  still  in  such 
thickets  and  forests,  and  after  sleeping 
three  or  four  hours  we  traveled  in  daylight, 
moving  cautiously,  and  keeping  well  under 
cover  of  the  thickets,  as  we  slipped  along. 
We  came  across  a  tree  full  of  ripe  persim- 
mons, and  ate  a  large  mess 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  food  in  this  fruit. 
It  satisfied  our  hunger  and  strengthened 
us.  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  a  meal  more. 
We  kept  on  till  the  sound  of  chopping  wood 
and  the  crowing  of  fowls  warned  us  that 
we  were  approaching  an  inhabited  country 
when  we  hid  in  the  bushes  and  waited  for 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  91 

the  friendly  darkness  to  renew  our  journey. 
The  fourth  night  we  passed  so  close  to  a 
house  that  the  dogs  barked  at  us,  and  we 
ran  our  best  away  from  it.  We  were  again 
bothered  by  swamps.  About  midnight  we 
ran  into  one,  backed  out,  flanked  to  the 
right  about  half  a  mile,  and  tried  again. 
Couldn't  make  it.  Went  a  half  mile  far- 
ther, and  again  failed. 


CHAPTER  X. 


IN   THE    SWAMPS. 

While  we  were  making  efforts  to  flank  the 
swamp,  the  sky  was  overcast  with  clouds. 
It  became  so  dark  that  we  could  not  see  at 
all,  so  we  were  compelled  to  stop.  We  felt 
around  in  the  dark  and  ran  against  a  large 
tree,  at  the  root  of  which  we  reclined  and 
waited  for  day. 

As  the  darkness  began  to  turn  to  a  leaden 
gray,  it  began  to  rain.  Slowly  and  in  small 
drops  at  first,  but  soon  gaining  till  it  rained 
hard.  All  the  leaves  were  dripping,  and  we 
were  soaked  and  chilled  in  a  short  time; 
(92) 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  93 

and  yet  the  rain  showed  no  sign  of  quit- 
ting. 

We  took  the  blues  and  grumbled,  mur- 
mured and  were  on  the  point  of  quarreling 
with  each  other.  Everything  was  wrong. 
We  had  not  found  a  thing  to  eat  all  night — 
had  no  hope  of  finding  anything  in  that 
jungle;  and  if  the  rain  and  clouds  contin- 
ued we  could  not  leave  it  the  coming  night, 
for  we  would  have  no  guide  for  our  course 
unless  the  sun  or  stars  should  appear,  and 
by  the  next  morning  we  would  probably  be 
too  weak  to  walk. 

When  Elijah  ran  into  the  wilderness  to 
escape  the  idolatrous  Jezebel,  he  took  the 
blues,  and  thought  he  had  better  be  dead. 
Instead  of  reasoning  with  him,  God  fed  him. 
And  while  Tom  and  I  sat  dripping,  chilled 
and  empty  in  that  swamp,  I  think  our  de- 
spondency belonged  more  to  our  physical 
than  to  our  mental  condition. 

As  we  reclined  at  the  root  of  the  tree,  a 
large  green  frog  came  hopping  through  the 
wet  leaves  and  moss.  We  did  not  philoso- 
phize and  draw  a  lesson  from  his  progress, 
as  the  Tartar  chieftain  did  from  the  ant; 


94  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

neither  did  we  draw  the  Christian's  lesson 
of  trust,  that  if  God  feeds  the  frog  in  the 
jungle,  he  will  care  for  us.  But  Tom  said, 
"let's  have  him,"  and  falling  his  length, 
covered  the  reptile  with  his  broad  palm. 
To  divide  him  with  our  thumb  nails  was 
the  work  of  an  instant;  to  eat  him  took  but 
a  minute  more.  There  were  no  fragments 
to  be  taken  up  after  the  meal. 

One  frog  could  not  satisfy  our  appetite, 
but  it  stopped  the  gnawing  of  the  stomach 
and  the  ringing  in  the  head.  We  liked  it. 

The  rain  ceased,  and  after  noon  the  sun 
appeared  occasionally  through  the  clouds. 
We  flanked  the  swamp,  waded  a  wide,  slug- 
gish creek,  waist  deep,  and  worked  through 
a  canebrake  before  night. 

We  came  to  a  cornfield,  and*  about  sun- 
down we  climbed  the  fence.  The  corn  had 
been  gathered,  but  we  searched  till  we 
found  one  ear  that  had  been  missed,  which 
we  ate.  We  found  some  dry  beans  also 
among  the  cornstalks,  and  ate  a  few  of 
them,  but  they  were  not  palatable  in  their 
new  state,  and,  as  we  had  no  means  to  cook 
them,  we  ate  but  few. 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  95 

We  crossed  corn  and  cotton  fields  that 
night,  following  the  rows  to  keep  from  be- 
ing turned  from  our  course,  as  the  stars 
did  not  show.  We  estimated  the  distance 
across  these  fields  at  four  miles.  The  coun- 
try was  level,  and  the  fields  were  muddy 
from  the  rain;  so,  by  the  time  we  had 
crossed  them  and  run  into  a  cane- 
brake  on  the  west  side,  we  were  tired 
enough  to  lie  down. 

The  next  morning  was  foggy,  and  stands 
out  in  memory  as  eminently  the  morning 
that  we  fought  gallinippers.  That  pest  of 
the  swamp  seemed  determined  to  take 
what  little  blood  we  had,  and  we  fought  to 
save  it. 

After  a  while  the  fog  floated  off,  and  the 
sun  shone  brightly.  We  picked  a  place  and 
lay  in  the  sun  till  we  dried  our  clothes, 
which  had  been  wet  for  twenty-four  hours. 

On  the  other  side  of  this  canebrake  was 
a  cornfield,  in  which  we  found  three  or  four 
ears,  and  ate  a  good  mess.  We  followed 
the  cane  to  where  it  merged  into  a  thicket, 
in  which  we  found  wild  grapes.  This 
thicket  was  in  a  narrow  slough  running  be- 


96  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

tween  Cleared  fields.  It  was  not  more  than 
fifty  yards  wide.  While  we  were  gathering 
the  grapes  we  heard  a  gun  not  very  far 
away.  We  crept  into  the  thickest  bushes 
near,  and  lay  flat  on  the  ground.  Soon  a 
man,  carrying  a  gun,  passed  along  the  edge 
of  the  field,  not  more  than  twenty  yards 
from  us.  He  was  the  first  human  being  we 
had  seen  since  we  left  the  train.  The  sight 
made  us  nervous  for  awhile;  but  after  hear- 
ing two  shots  a  good  distance  up  the  thick- 
et, and  waiting  awhile,  we  crept  out  and 
continued  our  journey  down  the  slough. 

Traveling  in  a  thicket  is  slow  work, — . 
creeping  under,  climbing  over,  crowding 
through  the  vine-tied  bushes.  But  we  kept 
at  it  till  all  at  once  we  stood  on  the  bank  of 
a  broad,  smooth-flowing  river. 

What  river  is  it?  We  ransacked  our 
meager  knowledge  of  Georgia  geography. 
It  must  be  Flint  River;  and  yet  if  it  is,  we 
are  not  where  we  thought  we  were.  We 
had  not  been  carried  as  far  by  rail  as  we 
thought.  It  was  Flint  River. 

One  thing  was  certain:  the  river  lay  in 
our  way,  and  must  be  crossed;  and  we 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  97 

thought  it  best  to  prepare  to  cross  before 
dark.  The  banks  were  lined  with  birch 
and  cane.  We  started  up  stream  under 
cover  of  this  growth,  hunting  for  driftwood 
to  build  a  raft.  We  found  a  little  path,  and 
followed  it  till  it  turned  down  the  bank. 
There  we  found  an  old  dug-out,  or  log  ca- 
noe, chained  to  a  tree  and  locked. 

We  waited  patiently  for  twilight  to  settle 
over  river  and  timber.  I  found  a  piece  of 
clapboard  for  a  paddle.  Tom  took  a  stake 
and  pried  out  the  staple  that  fastened  the 
chain  to  the  boat.  The  owner  doubtless 
found  his  lock  and  chain  all  right,  but  his 
canoe  was  like  the  dog  whose  master  tied 
him  to  the  rear  car,  thinking  he  could  trot 
along  behind  the  train. 


CHAPTER  XL 


BLOODHOUNDS. 

We  crossed  Flint  River,  turned  the  boat 
loose,  for  fear  of  being  tracked  from  it  by 
hounds,  struggled  up  the  bank,  and  toiled 
through  a  dense  thicket.  The  ground  was 
low  and  had  been  washed  by  floods.  The 
old  growth  of  cane  and  willow  had  been 
washed  down  and  stood  at  a  slight  angle 
from  the  ground,  and  the  new  had  grown 
up  through  it.  Imagine  a  lapped  willow 
hedge,  covering  acres  of  ground,  with  two 
men  going  through  it  in  the  dark,  and  you 
have  a  true  picture. 

After  working  through  the  tow-head  for 

(98) 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  99 

thirty  or  forty  rods,  we  found  we  were  on 
an  island.  Our  boat  was  gone.  There  was 
nothing  with  which  to  make  a  raft.  We 
had  crossed  the  main  stream,  but  before  us 
was  a  channel  sixty  or  eighty  feet  wide, 
and  of  unknown  depth. 

I  have  known  theologians  to  discuss,  the 
question,  "Who  has  a  right  to  prayt"  I 
think  it  is  one  of  the  natural  rights;  and 
that  any  one  in  mental  health  does  pray 
sometimes.  He  needs  revelation  to  acquaint 
him  with  the  Being  he  addresses,  but  he 
will  pray  whether  he  knows  Him  or  not. 

If  any  one  doubts  my  theory,  swimming 
a  river  where  alligators  abound  is  a  good 
way  to  test  it.  Here's  a  chance  for  Tyn- 
dall.  As  we  plunged  into  the  dark  waters, 
our  souls  cried  out  to  the  Invisible  One,  not 
in  audible  words,  but  in  earnest  breathings. 
I'll  never  forget  it.  We  knew  such  chan- 
nels were  favorite  resorts  for  these  mon- 
sters, and  that  one  crash  of  their  powerful 
jaws  would  end  at  once  our  sufferings  and 
our  hopes. 

Across.  Up  the  bank;  through  a  thicket. 
A  fence,  and  broad  meadows  beyond.  We 


100  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

pulled  off  our  clothes,  rung  out  the  water, 
and  put  them  on  again.  But  I  fear  I  will 
weary  the  reader  with  these  details.  "Pris- 
on life,"  in  which  thousands  were  involved 
with  me,  has  dwindled  down  to  a  personal 
narrative,  and  I  will  not  bore  you  by  asking 
you  to  go  over  the  whole  course  of  our 
wanderings. 

We  kept  on  our  course  by  night,  and  hid 
by  day.  When  we  could  find  nothing  to 
eat  in  the  fields,  we  were  forced  to  try  at 
negro  cabins,  to  beg  of  their  scanty  fare. 

When  this  had  to  be  done,  one  went 
alone,  and  the  other  hid,  with  this  under- 
standing that  if  the  one  who  went  was  cap- 
tured, he  should  tell  that  he  was  traveling 
alone;  and  the  other,  after  waiting  a  rea- 
sonable time,  should  go  on  by  himself.  I 
went  once,  and  Tom  twice.  He  came  near 
getting  caught  one  time  while  waiting  for 
a  hoe-cake  to  bake.  The  overseer  came  to 
the  cabin  where  he  was,  and  he  was  cover- 
ed up  in  a  pile  of  rags  in  the  corner. 

In  crossing  fields,  we  often  encountered 
a  low-running  briar,  called  dewberry  vines. 
My  bare  feet  and  ankles  were  soon  badly 


PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE.  101 

scratched,  and  full  of  thorns,  and  going 
through  the  weeds  and  fens  were 
poisoned.  During  the  day  they  would 
swell  up,  and  were  very  feverish.  When 
I  would  start  out  in  the  evening,  it 
was  like  walking  on  a  boil  for  a  mile  or 
two.  I  would  sweat  and  shake  with  the 
pain,  and  it  required  a  strong  effort  of  the 
will  to  go  on  at  all.  After  a  mile  or  so  they 
would  get  numb,  and  I  would  get  along 
better;  unless  I  tore  them  afresh  on  the 
briars.  In  the  morning  they  would  throb 
and  ache,  and  swell  again. 

A  new  trouble  stared  us  in  the  face  after 
we  had  been  out  ten  or  twelve  days — Tom 
was  failing.  He  was  about  six  feet  high, 
and  well  proportioned.  In  our  lines,  he 
would  weigh  about  one  hundred  and  eighty. 
Of  course  it  required  more  food  to  keep 
him  than  a  smaller  man.  He  never  com- 
plained. He  was  too  gritty  for  that.  But 
at  almost  every  fence  we  crossed  he  would 
say,  "  Oats,  let's  rest  a  little."  During  the 
clay  he  had  aching  in  his  bones  and  head; 
his  eyes  were  deeply  sunken  in  their  sock- 
ets, and  he  could  get  but  little  sleep.  He 


102 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 


would  sit  for  hours  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  chin  in  his  hands.  After 
looking  at  him,  his  haggard  face  and  hollow 
black  eyes  would  stay  in  my  mind  when  I 
turned  away,  and  I  could  not  help  asking 
the  question:  "Will  he  last  long  enough  to 
reach  home?"  or,  "If  he  fails  and  gets 
down,  what  can  I  do  for  him?"  I  could  see 
but  two  courses  to  choose  from,  in  such  an 
event — one  was  to  go  to  the  nearest  house 
and  surrender  us  up.  The  other,  to  make 
him  a  bed  in  the  thicket,  and  forage  by 
night,  and  watch  him  by  day,  till  he  mend- 
ed or  died.  He  did  not  get  down,  but  kept 
on  till  we  had  been  out  fifteen  nights.  Dur- 
ing that  time  we  had  traveled  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles — an  average  of  ten 
miles  per  night. 

At  this  time  General  Hood  had  started 
on  his  Nashville  campaign,  and  his  Georgia 
soldiers  were  deserting  in  great  numbers. 
The  Provost  Marshals  were  ordered  to  hunt 
them  up  and  return  them  to  their  com- 
mands. 

Their  plan  for  executing  this  order  was, 
to  warn  the  citizens  against  feeding  or  help- 


PEISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  103 

ing  the  deserters  in  any  way;  and  in  case 
any  one  was  found  about  their  premises, 
they  were  ordered  to  notify  the  Marshal  at 
once,  so  that  he  could  go  and  arrest  them. 

We  spent  the  fourteenth  day  of  our  pil- 
grimage in  a  little  thicket  on  the  border  of 
a  large  plantation.  It  was  not  a  swamp, 
but  a  patch  of  briars  and  brambles  allowed 
to  grow  along  the  fence,  because  of  the 
slovenly  method  of  farming.  We  felt  un- 
easy on  account  of  the  insecurity  of  our 
hiding-place,  and  did  not  dare  to  move 
about  in  search  of  food,  lest  we  expose  our- 
selves. So  we  kept  still  and  fasted  till 
dark.  When  night  came  we  started,  deter- 
mined to  hunt  food,  and  make  what  head- 
way we  could.  But  we  had  fasted  so  long 
that  we  staggered  like  drunken  men,  and 
that  terrible  ringing  of  the  head  warned  us 
that  we  must  find  food  or  go  crazy  before 
long. 

Failing  in  the  fields,  we  approached  the. 
negro  quarters  of  the  plantation.  We 
aroused  the  inmates  of  two  or  three  cabins, 
and  begged,  but  got  nothing.  They  said 
they  had  nothing.  My  opinion  is,  that  they 


104  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

did  not  believe  we  were  genuine  Yanks,  and 
were  afraid  to  help  us.  Finally,  wTe  found 
an  old  darkey  who  said  his  wife  cooked  for 
the  white  folks,  and  that  if  we  would  slip 
around  into  the  kitchen  behind  the  man- 
sion, we  could  get  something  to  eat.  He 
told  us  how  to  get  in,  and  how  to  find  the 
pantry  stores.  We  wanted  him  to  go  and 
bring  us  out  something,  but  he  refused. 
There  it  was,  and  we  could  get  it  our- 
selves if  we  wanted  it.  We  sat  down  in  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  fence,  and  quietly  dis- 
cussed the  chances"  of  starving  or  getting 
food  elsewhere.  It  was  several  miles  to  an- 
other plantation.  We  decided  that  this 
was  our  best  chance;  and  cautiously  ap- 
proached and  silently  entered  the  kitchen. 
We  followed  the  negro's  directions,  and 
found  bread,  meat  and  milk.  We  drank 
the  milk,  and  taking  a  piece  of  bread  and 
meat  in  our  hands,  we  "silently  stole 
away." 

We  traveled  three  or  four  miles.  The 
ringing  in  our  heads  gradually  ceased,  but 
our  limbs  wabbled  badly  all  night.  Before 
day  we  found  a  little  thicket  in  the  midst 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  105 

'. 

of  a  cotton  field,  and  decided  to  halt  and 
make  it  our  hiding-place  for  the  next  day. 
So  ended  the  fifteenth  and  last  night  of  our 
flight. 

From  the  night  that  we  jumped  off  the 
cars  till  we,  all  damp  with  the  night's  dews, 
crept  into  this  thicket,  our  hope  had  grown 
higher  and  higher.  Every  thicket  where 
we  made  our  lair  for  a  day — yes,  every  field 
we  crossed,  seemed  to  make  our  prospect 
brighter.  "If  we  reach  our  lines"  was 
gradually  changing  to  "  When  we  reach  our 
lines,"  in  our  thought  and  conversation.  It 
was  still  a  long  way  off,  but  we  would  not 
be  likely  to  meet  worse  obstacles  than 
we  had  already  encountered;  and  if  our 
strength  only  held  out,  we  would  make  it 
by  and  by.  This  was  the  way  we  felt  on 
the  morning  after  this  nights  adventure. 

About  midday  we  were  sitting  in  a  sunny 
spot  in  the .  thicket,  trying  to  get  warm 
enough  to  make  us  sleepy. 

Tom  was  sitting,  or  squatting,  a  few  feet 
from  me,  hugging  his  knees  and  resting  his 
chin  in  his  hands.  I  was  reclining  against 


106  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

• 

some  bushes  that  1  had  bent  down.  Neither 
had  spoken  for  some  time. 

My  ear  caught  a  sound.  I  listened.  Pres- 
ently I  heard  it  again  a  little  plainer.  I 
raised  up  and  sat  erect,  all  attention.  Yes, 
I  could  hear  it  better  now.  Every  nerve 
was  strained  to  listen.  The  blood  seemed 
to  all  rush  into  my  heart— my  heart  into 
my  throat.  I  shuddered,  and  turned  sick. 
I  had  heard  that  sound  before.  It  was 
often  borne  to  our  ears  as  we  lay  in  Ander- 
son ville;  especially  on  the  day  after  the 
tunnel  was  opened. 

I  looked  at  Tom.  He  had  not  changed 
his  position,  but  his  great  black  eyes  were 
glaring  at  me  with  a  wild,  hopeless  expres- 
sion in  them. 

"Tom,  do  you  hear  those  hounds?" 

"They  are  on  our  track!" 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"What  can  we  doF' 

Sure,  enough!  What  could  we  do  in  our 
condition?  If  we  had  only  had  our  car- 
bines we  might  have  done  something.  But 
we  had  nothing — not  even  a  knife. 

The  brutes  were  getting  closer.     They 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 


107 


108  PBISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

were  coming  across  the  field  toward  our 
thicket.  We  climbed  a  tree. 

Five  men,  armed  and  mounted,  and  four 
bloodhounds  soon  discovered  us.  They  or- 
dered us  to'surrender ;  called  off  the  hounds, 
and  we  came  down. 

The  Provost  Captain  of  this  squad  looked 
us  all  over,  and  said: 

"Who  the  —  are  you?" 

We  told  him.  He  was  looking  for  de- 
serters, and  was  as  much  surprised  at  find- 
ing Yanks  in  that  part  of  the  country  as  wTe 
were,  at  being  found.  But  somehow  he  en- 
joyed the  surprise  much  better  than  we. 

To  us  it  was  terrible.  All  our  risk,  our 
toil,  our  suffering,  had  come  to  nothing. 
When  we  learned  that  we  would  be  sent 
back  to  Andersonville,  Tom  begged  the 
guard  to  shoot  him,  and  end  his  misery  at 
once. 

I  felt  very  much  as  Tom  did.  Neither  of 
us  thought  that  we  could  live  through  the 
winter  in  that  pen.  Hope  was  dead.  De- 
spair settled  down  upon  us.  I  cannot 
describe  it.  No  one  who  has  not  felt  it 
would  recognize  the  picture.  May  God  pre- 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  109 

serve  the  reader  from  ever  knowing  by  ex- 
perience the  meaning  of  the  word. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WANTED — A  SHIRT. 

The  captain  of  the  squad  that  caught  us 
was  a  good-natured,  jolly  old  fellow,  who 
looked  as  though  he  lived  on  the  best  beef 
and  brandy  in  Georgia.  He  treated  us  well. 

They  stopped  with  us,  after  dark,  at  the 
house  of  a  wealthy  planter,  in  the  northern 
part  of  Talbott  county — a  large,  white 
house,  in  a  grove  of  oaks.  It  looked  pretty 
and  homelike  in  the  moonlight,  as  we  en- 
tered the  yard.  We  saw  none  of  the  family 
that  night  except  the  host,  a  pleasant  old 
gentleman,  with  white  hair  and  beard.  He 
(110) 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  Ill 

listened  with  interest  to  the  captain's  ac- 
count of  our  capture,  and  asked  us  a  num- 
ber of  questions.  He  made  the  servants 
prepare  supper  for  the  guard  and  us;  and 
told  us  that  we  were  welcome  to  all  we 
could  eat,  but  advised  us  to  be  careful  not 
to  eat  too  much.  He  then  ordered  beds 
prepared  for  the  whole  party.  Tom  and  I 
told  him  we  were  not  fit  to  sleep  in  a  bed, 
but  he  insisted;  so  we  washed  and  went  to 
bed.  A  fire  was  built  in  our  room,  and  the 
four  rebel  soldiers  divided  the  time  so  that 
two  of  them  were  on  guard  by  the  fire  all 
night. 

I  have  often  thought  of  their  careful 
watch.  We  were  weary,  foot-sore  and  thor- 
oughly discouraged.  With  a  fair  start  we 
could  not  make  over  five  or  six  miles  that 
night,  and  with  their  hounds  they  could 
catch  us  by  ten  o'clock  next  day.  If  they 
had  put  their  guns  where  we  could  not  get 
hold  of  them,  I  don't  think  we  would  have 
tried  to  get  away.  Yet  such  was  their  cau- 
tion that  they  sat  up  by  twos  to  guard  us. 

We  did  not  sleep  much.  We  were  too 
blue.  Our  future  looked  dark.  I  was  ner- 


112  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

vous  and  wakeful,  and  as  Tom  tossed  about 
in  the  bed,  deep  sighs,  that  were  almost 
sobs,  told  me  that  he  could  not  sleep. 

In  the  morning  after  we  were  up  and 
washed,  our  host  came  in,  and,  with  South- 
ern hospitality,  set  before  us  a  big  black 
bottle,  a  sugar-bowl,  and  tumblers.  The 
bottle  contained  a  fiery  liquor,  called  by  the 
Johnnies  in  those  days,  "  sanguin." 

Tell  the  Temperance  Reformer  to  go  on 
with  his  crusade.  May  God  speed  him  in 
his  efforts.  He  is  right — it  teas  vile  stuff. 
Our  host  knew  it,  but  he  apologized  by  say- 
ing that  the  accursed  Yankee  blockade  had 
cut  off  his  supply  of  old  Kentucky  Bourbon, 
and  he  offered  us  the  best  he  had. 

He  then  led  us  and  our  guard  out  to 
breakfast.  It  had  been  a  long,  long  time 
since  Tom  or  I  had  sat  at  table  with  ladies. 
Even  in  our  lines,  in  campaign  from  Chatta- 
nooga to  Atlanta,  we  had  no  such  privileges. 
As  we  entered  the  dining  room  the  host 
gave  us  some  sort  of  a  general  introduction 
to  three  ladies — his  wife  and  daughters.  It 
is  fashionable  for  men  to  accuse  the  other 
sex  of  vanity;  but  we  have  our  full  share. 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  113 

When  I  looked  across  the  table  at  those 
well-dressed  ladies,  and  down  at  my  tatter- 
ed pants,  and  swollen,  discolored  feet,  I  felt 
bashful  and  awkward;  and  as  I  drew  my 
blouse  more  closely  about  my  neck  and 
breast,  the  desire  for  giddy  display  so  over- 
came me  that  for  one  brief  moment  I  wish- 
ed I  had  a  shirt.  I  sat  down  embarrassed 
by  the  feeling  that  I  was  not  fit  to  be  there. 
But  the  table  talk  turned  at  once  upon  the 
war  and  its  current  campaigns,  and  the 
boastful  manner  in  which  they  spoke  of 
the  prowess  of  their  armies,  and  the  skill 
of  their  generals,  soon  aroused  my  combat- 
iveness  and  put  me  at  my  ease. 

Their  greatest  boast  was  the  skill  of  Gen- 
eral Hood.  He  had  flanked  the  flanker;  he 
had  gone  around  Sherman;  had  got  be- 
tween him  and  his  best  general  (Thomas), 
and  could  now  strike  either  way.  Sher- 
man's only  chance  of  escape  would  be  to 
break  up  his  army  into  small  divisions  and 
go  out  through  East  Tennessee.  To  one 
who  remembers  the  campaign  of  1864,  in 
which  Thomas  fell  back  before  Hood  till 
he  got  everything  ready,  and  then  utterly 
8 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  115 

crushed  the  life  out  of  his  army,  this  boast- 
ing has  its  moral. 

Of  course  Tom  and  I  entered  into  the  dis- 
cussion— much  of  it  was  addressed  to  us. 
They  charged  many  hard  things  against 
the  U.  S.  Government.  Some  of  them  we 
denied,  some  we  could  defend,  and  some  we 
couldn't. 

They  said  we  could  never  whip  them  in 
the  world.  We  said  the  United  States 
would  govern  the  country  or  make  a  wil- 
derness of  it,  and  we  didn't  care  which. 

We  spoke  bitterly  of  Andersonville,  and 
told  them — and  we  thought  so  then — that 
we  could  not  live  through  the  coming  win- 
ter if  they  sent  us  back  there,  and  we  hoped 
our  Government  would  retaliate.  That  if 
we  could  be  sure  that  for  every  man  who 
languished  in  Andersonville  one  would 
freeze  in  Camp  Douglass,  we  would  go  and 
bravely  die  and  rot  there.  We  were  not  a 
bit  excited.  Only  earnest  and  warm.  May 
be  it  was  the  "  sanguin  "  juice. 

One  standard  subject  for  hard  feeling  in 
those  days  was  the  enlistment  of  the  ne- 
gro into  the  army.  It  was  seldom  that  we 


116  PEISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

ever  got  into  a  discussion  with  the  rebels 
that  they  did  not  refer  to  that.  One  of 
the  soldiers  present  said:  "YoGove'ment 
thinks  yon-alls  no  bettah  than  niggahs,  foh 
it  puts  niggahs  in  yo  ahmy,"— and  he  look- 
ed at  the  ladies  for  approval.  One  of  us  re- 
torted: "Then  your  Government  thinks 
you  are  no  better  than,  hounds,  for  it  uses 
hounds  for  the  same  purpose!" 

So  we  had  it  up  and  down  during  the  en- 
tire breakfast.  The  old  captain  allowed  us 
full  freedom  of  speech,  if  not  of  person,  and 
we  indulged  ourselves.  I  have  given  these 
hard  speeches  and  ruffled  feelings  thus  fully 
because  of  what  followed. 

After  breakfast  was  over,  while  the  pro- 
vost were  getting  ready  to  start  with  us, 
the  mistress  of  the  house  gave  Tom  and 
me  an  old  quilt  to  be  owned  in  common,  a 
small  sack  filled  with  provisions  for  us  to 
eat  on  the  way,  and  to  each  of  us  a  pair  of 
home-spun  and  home-knitted  cotton  socks. 

I  felt  as  though  I  could  not  take  the  gifts, 
after  all  that  had  passed,  and  I  told  the 
woman,  "Madam,  we  are  here  as  your  ene- 
mies. We  have  lodged  under  your  roof  be- 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  117 

cause  we  could  not  help  ourselves.  Let  us 
part  as  enemies.  Our  strongest  desire  is 
that  we  may  live  to  he  reunited  with  our 
regiment,  that  we  may  raid  through  this 
country  and  make  war  terrible  to  it.  Don't 
make  us  feel  that  we  are  under  obliga- 
tions to  a  human  being  in  this  whole  land." 

She  answered:  "I  have  two  boys,  soldiers 
with  Lee  in  the  army  of  Virginia.  If  they 
should  ever  be  captured  and  brought  to 
your  mother,  so  destitute  as  you  are,  I 
would  want  her  to  do  something  for  them, 
and  I  want  to  do  something  for  you.  Our 
own  army  has  made  so  many  requisitions 
on  us  that  there  is  but  little  left  that 
I  could  spare.  I  would  like  to  give  you 
some  warm  clothing,  but  I  have  none.  This 
quilt  may  afford  some  shelter  from  the  win- 
try winds,  and  these  socks  will  be  some 
protection  to  your  feet.  You  won't  refuse 
them?" 

I  bit  my  under  lip.  I  bit  my  upper  lip- 
it  was  no  use — the  tears  would  come.  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  could  answer  taunt  with 
taunt;  but  kindness  found  every  picket 
asleep.  I  was  surprised.  There  was  some- 


118  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

thing  in  my  throat  I  could  not  swallow. 
That  woman's  Christianity  cropped  out 
above  her  patriotism.  Be  patient,  reader, 
and  let  me  linger  a  little.  It  is  the  only 
bright  spot  in  all  those  dreary  months. 

My  memory  of  prison  life  is  a  dark,  slug- 
gish lagoon,  with  muddy  banks  and  oozy 
bed,  from  which  all  beauty  has  departed. 
But  look!  Rising  from  the  black  water  and 
floating  on  the  scummy  surface,  we  found  a 
lovely  water-lily,  mingling  its  sweet  per- 
fume with  the  pestilential  vapors.  As  I 
look  back  over  my  life,  I  see  no  one  deed 
that  moved  its  currents  more  deeply  than 
this  one. 

I  hope  that  that  woman  received  her 
boys  safe  and  sound  at  the  end  of  the  war. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


JAILED. 

We  put  on  the  socks.  I  told  the  woman 
I  would  never  forget  her  kindness,  and  so 
far  I  have  kept  my  promise.  That  was  Oc- 
tober 20th,  1864 — just  sixteen  years  ago. 
During  these  years  I  have  changed  so  much 
that  I  can  hardly  identify  myself;  and  I 
think  that  no  one  who  knows  the  preacher 
of  to-day,  would  recognize  in  him  the  reck- 
less, hopeless  "Oats"  of  that  day;  and  still 
the  events  of  that  morning  are  as  vivid  in 
my  memory  as  though  they  had  happened 
during  the  last  year. 

(119) 


120  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

The  guard  ordered  us  to  start.  The  cap- 
tain and  one  soldier  went  with  us.  They 
were  mounted,  and  ordered  us  to  walk  be- 
fore them.  The  road  was  dusty;  in  places, 
rough;  and  they  kept  urging  us  to  walk 
faster,  until  we  were  almost  exhausted . 

Toward  noon  we  came  to  Talbotton,  the 
county-seat.  I  can  describe  it  with  one 
sentence:  The  railroad  missed  it.  I  think 
you  can  all  see  its  general  dilapidation  in 
that  sentence. 

We  came  to  the  public  square,  and  were 
stopped  under  a  large  shade  tree.  Tivo 
Yanks  in  town!  The  news  spread  rapidly, 
and  soon  brought  around  us  a  crowd  of 
ladies  (?)  and  gentlemen  (?).  Everybody 
seemed  to  be  at  leisure.  No,  we  did  not 
feel  proud  of  our  notoriety.  A  dog-fight 
would  have  called  the  same  crowd  together. 

They  bemeaned  us,  and  berated  us  sound- 
ly, and  when  we  told  them  that  we  were 
Kentuckians,  they  became  more  abusive 
still.  They  could  overlook  the  meanness  of 
New  England  Yanks,  but  Kentucky  Yanks 
were  traitors,  and  ought  to  be  hung!  The 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  121 

ladies  (?)  used  the  most  insulting  language 
at  their  command. 

Finally,  an  old  man,  with  long,  white 
beard,  a  harsh,  cracked  voice,  and  an  extra- 
ordinary vocabulary  of  profane  and  vulgar 
language,  spoke  thus: 

"I'd  hang  'em!  String  'em  up!.  I  wouldn't 
guard  such.  Give  'em  hemp!" 

Tom  turned  on  him  like  the  caged  lion 
that  he  was: 

"You'd  hang  'em?  I  believe  you.  It's 
just  your  pluck!  Hang  two  miserable,  starv- 
ed, sick  prisoners!  You're  a  brave!  You 
never  saw  a  real,  live  Yank.  You  coward! 
Go  up  to  Atlanta  and  see  them  with  the 
horns  on.  If  you  heard  the  Yanks  were 
coming  this  way  you'd  run  and  hide!" 

I  give  the  substance  of  these  speeches  as 
well  as  I  can.  To  report  them  in  full  would 
require  the  use  of  a  good  many  words  that 
are  spelled  "—  '  in  polite  literature. 

Tom's  speech  fired  the  whole  crowd.  It 
was  a  regular  mob,  and  they  began  to  talk 
earnestly  about  doing  what  the  old  man 
suggested.  Our  old  captain  had  left  us  in 
charge  of  the  guard  for  a  short  time;  but 


122  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

he  rode  up  just  in  time,  and  with  a  cocked 
pistol  in  his  hand,  threatened  to  shoot  the 
first  man  who  tried  to  molest  us.  He  or- 
dered us  to  keep  our  mouths  shut,  and  said 
if  we  wouldn't  talk  so  saucy  there  would 
be  no  danger. 

I  was  scared.  When  I  was  captured  the 
day  before,  I  thought  I  would  as  lief  be 
shot.  But  when  I  looked  in  the  face  of 
death  at  the  hands  of  that  mob,  I  found  I 
did  not  want  to  die  in  that  way — then. 

A  new  guard,  one  man,  was  detailed  to 
take  us  on  to  Geneva.  He  drove  us  before 
him  down  the  road.  We  were  very  tired 
and  weak.  We  begged  him  to  let  us  rest; 
but  he  was  in  a  hurry.  Finally,  a  man  in  a 
spring-wagon  overtook  us,  and  the  guard 
had  him  haul  us.  He  was  a  kind  man,  and 
the  first  Southerner  we  had  found  who 
thought  there  was  any  possibility  of  Hood 
having  made  a  mistake  in  his  campaign. 
He  freely  admitted  that  he  did  not  see  the 
wisdom  of  leaving  Sherman  in  Atlanta  with 
sixty  thousand  men,  and  not  even  a  decent 
skirmish  line  between  him  and  the  heart  of 
Georgia. 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  123 

"They  were  fools  if  they  thought  he 
would  stay  where  they  wanted  him  to,  till 
Hood  got  ready  to  come  back  and  whip 
him!" 

Ah!  how  Tom  and  I  enjoyed  this  chat. 
It  was  more  delicious  than  nectar.  It  would 
beat  sorghum  juice! 

Geneva  is  a  town  on  the  Macon  &  Colum- 
bus railroad.  Our  friend  with  the  buggy 
took  us  to  the  depot,  and  as  he  left,  gave  us 
two  dollars  (Confed.)  apiece  to  buy  tobacco 
with.  We  passed  a  resolution,  by  a  stand- 
ing vote,  that  he  was  "Bully!" 

We  were  put  on  a  train  and  taken  to  Col- 
umbus, Georgia,  where  we  arrived  a  little 
before  dark.  Columbus  was  at  that  time  a 
thrifty-looking  little  city.  We  had  not  gone 
far  till  we  saw  a  familiar  face  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street— the  face  of  a  wooden  In- 
dian. The  guard  crossed  over,  and  we  in- 
vested our  "Confed."  in  "Ole  Virginny." 
We  were  then  taken  to  military  headquar- 
ters. 

Every  old  soldier  remembers  the  unspeak- 
able contempt  in  which  we  used  to  hold 
these  red-tape  fops,  who  always  kept  out  of 


124  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

danger  by  being  detailed  on  post  duty  in 
the  rear.  You  remember  we  used  to  have 
a  name  for  them.  Sycophant  is  as  near 
the  meaning  of  the  word  as  any  term  I  can 
find,  but  that  is  not  quite  the  word  that  we 
used.  It  will  doubtless  help  us  to  forgive 
the  rebel  soldiers  to  know  that  they  were 
cursed  by  the  same  class  of  dandies  in  their 
rear. 

At  headquarters  in  Columbus  we  found 
two  or  three  of  these  fops.    Our  guard  ap- 
proached one  who  was  writing  at  a  desk, 
and,  saluting  him,  began: 
"  I  have  two  prisoners— 
"  I  ain't  the  man." 

He  crossed  the  room  to  the  other  desk, 
and  again  began  his  statement.    The  clerk 
spoke  in  a  haughty,  disdainful  manner— 
"Where  did  you  get  these  men?" 

"  Capt. caught  them  near ." 

"Where  did  they  come  from?" 
"  They  say,  from  Andersonville." 
"Too  many  men  get  out  of  Anderson- 
ville," as  though  the  guard  could  help  it. 
He  then  turned  and  looked  at  us  with  as 
much  contempt  in  his  glance  as  a  hotel 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  125 

clerk  would  give  to  a  Congressman,  and 
asked : 

"  How  did  you  get  out?" 

"  We  climbed  out  on  a  grape-vine." 

He  wrote  a  little  note  and  handed  it  to 
the  guard. 

"  Take  these  men  to  jail,  and  give  that  to 
the  jailer."  So  we  went  to  jail  in  the  city 
of  Columbus,  Georgia. 

We  were  criminals!  Our  crime  was  be- 
lieving in  the  Government  of  the  United 
States,  and  being  willing  to  defend  its  flag. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


CAMP   LAWTON. 

The  jail  at  Columbus  was  an  iron  build- 
ing. It  consisted  of  a  hall  about  twelve 
feet  wide,  twenty  feet  long,  and  twelve  feet 
high;  with  a  double  tier  of  cells  on  each 
side.  Each  cell  was  about  six  feet  cube.  A 
shelf  about  two  feet  Avide  ran  along  each 
side  of  the  hall,  six  feet  from  the  floor,  by 
which  we  had  access  to  the  upper  tier  of 
cells.  In  each  cell  was  a  kind  of  bunk  or 

shelf  to  sleep  on. 

When  Tom  and  I  were  turned  into  that 
jail,  there  were  seventeen  jail-birds  there. 
(126) 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  127 

I  remember  the  number  seventeen,  but  am 
not  sure  whether  there  were  seventeen  be- 
fore we  entered,  or  whether  we  made  the 
number. 

One  man — a  murderer — was  kept  locked 
in  his  cell.  All  the  rest  of  us  stayed  in  the 
common  hall  by  day,  and  slept  in  the  cells, 
or  on  the  hall  floor  by  night,  as  we  pleased. 

We  were  a  select  company.  One  old  man 
was  there  for  dodging  the  conscript  law. 
There  were  two  deserters  from  the  rebel 
army,  waiting  until  they  could  be  forward- 
ed to  their  command.  There  were  two 
roughs  who  were  sent  there  for  raising  a 
row  in  a  brothel  down  town.  A  Texan,  for 
killing  a  quartermaster.  Three  negroes; 
two  of  them  for  trying  to  run  off.  I  can't 
remember  all  of  them,  but  last,  as  the  chief 
of  criminals,  Tom  and  I — two  Yanks! 

We  were  there  ten  or  twelve  days, 
I  don't  remember  the  exact  time;  but  it 
was  a  good  place  to  stay.  We  had  two 
good  meals  per  day,  consisting  of  good  corn 
bread  (not  the  Andersonville  kind),  bacon, 
cabbage,  rice,  etc.,  all  well  cooked  and 
enough  of  it.  One  of  the  negroes  had 


128  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

friends  outside  who  brought  him  peanuts, 
which  he  shared  with  us;  and  the  roughs 
had  "  friends "  of  their  kind,  who  brought 
them  delicacies,  and  when  they  learned 
that  there  were  Yanks  in  there,  they  gave 
us  oranges. 

We  improved  in  health,  strength,  and 
spirits,  rapidly;  and  we  passed  another  res- 
olution by  a  large  majority:  Whereas,  we 
have  to  be  prisoners;  Resolved— That  we 
would  rather  be  treated  as  crimiiidls  than 
as  prisoners  of  war!  And  I  now  record 
that  resolution  in  these  minutes. 

The  blessings  of  this  world  are  transient, 
and  sooner  or  later  we  have  to  give  them 
up.  The  Columbus  jail  was  not  an  excep- 
tion. About  two  hundred  prisoners,  cap- 
tured by  Hood  at  Atlanta,  Georgia,  were 
being  forwarded  to  prison  by  way  of  Col- 
umbus. When  they  arrived,  our  jailer  was 
ordered  to  put  us  with  them. 

We  were  taken  out  of  jail  in  the  evening, 
and  put  with  the  other  prisoners,  who  were 
corralled  on  a  vacant  lot  and  closely  guard- 
ed. The  next  morning  we  were  loaded  on 
a  train  of  flat  cars  and  taken  to  Macon. 


PRISON    LIFE    IN    DIXIE.  129 

Tom  was  feeling  well,  and  my  feet  were 
in  a  fair  way  to  recover.  Hood  was  about 
Chattanooga,  so  we  decided  that  if  we  run 
that  night  we  would  jump  off,  and  aim  to 
go  straight  to  Atlanta.  The  reader  may 
try  to  imagine  our  disappoint  when,  instead 
of  going  on,  they  took  us  off  the  cars  at 
Macon,  and  again  put  us  in  camp.  We  saw 
that  they  did  not  intend  to  travel  by  night, 
so  we  tried  to  think  of  some  way  to  run 
the  guard. 

We  were  put  in  a  place  that  had  a  high, 
tight  board  fence  on  three  sides  of  it;  on 
the  fourth  ran  the  Ocmulgee  river.  The 
guards  walked  around  inside  of  the  fence, 
and  along  the  river  bank.  Tom  conceived 
the  idea  of  slipping  past  the  guard  on  the 
bank,  getting  down  to  the  water,  and  quiet- 
ly swimming  and  floating  with  the  current 
out  of  town.  We  tried  to  do  it,  but  the 
guard  was  too  vigilant,  and  we  had  to  give 
it  up  after  narrowly  escaping  being  shot. 

The  next  morning  we  were  again  put  on 
the  flat  cars,  and  started  toward  Savannah. 
Riding  on  those  open  flat  cars  gave  us  a 
good  chance  to  see  the  country,  and  we 


130  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

made  close  observations,  even  counting  the 
streams  we  crossed.  The  country  was  very 
flat,  large  swamps  were  abundant — it  look- 
ed as  if  fully  half  the  land  was  swampy. 
We  saw  but  few  clearings  or  other  indica- 
tions of  an  inhabited  country.  We  did  not 
think  we  could  get  through  such  a  country 
by  night,  but  it  looked  as  though  there 
would  not  be  much  danger  in  daylight. 

About  three  o'clock  we  came  to  Milieu 
Junction,  where  the  Augusta  road  intersects 
the  Savannah  &  Macon  railroad.  Our  train 
switched  off  and  ran  up  the  Augusta  road 
two  or  three  miles,  to  where  the  rebels  had 
established  a  new  prison,  called  by  them, 
"  Camp  Lawton,"  but  known  to  us  as  the 
"Millen  Prison." 

This  prison  was  built  on  the  same  general 
plan  as  the  one  at  Andersonville,  but  it  was 
much  better  every  way. 

It  was  a  stockade  pen,  enclosing  about 
twenty-five  acres.  Wall,  sentry-boxes,  and 
dead-line  as  at  Anderson'ville.  The  water 
was  clear  and  comparatively  pure,  as  there 
was  no  camp  on  the  creek  above  the  pen. 
The  trees  along  this  creek  were  left  for 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  131 

shade,  making  probably  three  acres  of  tim- 
ber. The  creek  went  murmuring  through 
this  forest  shade,  following  its  own  winding 
channel  for  about  half  the  distance  across 
the  pen."  From  the  middle  of  the  pen  to 
the  lower  stockade  the  stream  was  confined 
in  a  straight  channel  about  four  feet  wide, 
through  which  it  rushed  in  a  way  that 
would  carry  off  all  the  filth  of  the  prison. 
A  good  bridge  was  built  across  the  creek  at 
the  head  of  this  straight  part. 

The  prisoners  all  stayed  on  the  west  side 
of  the  stream,  and  used  the  grove  and  the 
east  side  as  a  kind  of  public  park  or  prom- 
enade. 

What  would  we  not  have  given  for  such 
an  addition  to  Andersonville,  during  those 
horrible  hot  days  in  August? 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION. 

Any  one  can  see  by  my  description  of 
Camp  Lawton,  that  it  was  a  better  place 
than  Anderson ville.  Still  it  lacked  a  good 
deal  of  being  a  fit  place  in  which  to  spend 
the  winter. 

When  Tom  and  I  entered,  about  the  first 
of  November,  1864,  there  were  about  ten 
thousand  men  there.  They  were  all  corrall- 
ed on  the  west  side  of  the  creek,  and  were 
without  shelter,  except  such  miserable 
apologies  as  we  saw  in  Andersonville. 

Nearly  all  the  men  in  the  prison  were 
(132) 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  133 

from  that  horrid  pen — taken  out  on  promise 
of  exchange,  only  to  keep  them  docile  and 
tractable  till  they  could  get  them  to  a  safer 
place. 

It  is  mean  to  raise  hopes  and  dash  them 
down,  and  the  effect  was  plainly  seen  here 
in  the  large  number  in  which  hope  was 
dead,  and  who  were  anxious  to  be  dead  lit- 
erally, as  the  only  way  to  escape  from  woes 
that  had  become  unbearable. 

Tom  and  I  wandered  about  among  these 
miserable  wretches  till  dark,  searching  for 
our  acquaintances.  We  found  none  that 
day.  At  night  we  picked  out  a  place,  and 
spreading  our  quilt — that  woman's  gift,  we 
laid  us  down "  on  the  damp  ground,  under 
the  cold  gray  mists  of  a  November  night. 
Thousands  lay  about  us  who  had  not  even 
the  comfort  that  we  derived  from  our  quilt, 
but  chilled  and  shook  the  night  away,  with 
nothing  but  a  ragged  shirt  and  pants  to 
shield  their  starving  bodies.  We  ought  to 
have  been  thankful,  but  we  were  not. 

Next  day  we  renewed  our  search,  and 
found  a  number  of  our  regiment — among 
'them  my  partners  in  the  sack  tent.  As  I 


134  PRISON   LIFE   IN    DIXIE. 

still  owned  my  share  in  that  fly,  and  as 
Tom  had  found  some  of  his  former  mess- 
mates, we  swapped  our  quilt  for  a  blanket, 
tore  it  in  halves,  and  dissolved  partnership. 
We  were  not  tired  of  each  other.  We  were 
always  friends — more  than  friends — we 
were  "  pards."  Get  some  old  soldier  to  tell 
you  what  that  means,  and  you  will  know 
how  strong  was  our  attachment.  We  could 
each  get  a  better  shelter  by  separating; 
hence  we  tore  the  blanket. 

The  most  notable  event  of  our  sojourn  in 
this  pen  was  the  Presidential  election. 
The  rebels  furnished  us  with  papers  con- 
taining extracts  from  Northern  papers  call- 
ing the  war  a  failure,  and  saying  that  if 
McClellan  is  elected  he  will  bring  it  to  a 
close.  You  who  were  in  the  loyal  States 
during  that  campaign,  doubtless  understood 
all  the  questions  at  issue.  Only  one  ques- 
tion reached  the  wretched  prisoner  in  his 
dreary  pen.  And  that  was  raised  by  that 
plank  in  the  platform  on  which  Little  Me. 
stood — "Resolved,  That  the  war  is  a 
failure" 

Rebel  ofiicers  came  in  and  talked  freely 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  185 

with  us,  giving  it  as  their  opinion  that  if 
McClellan  was  elected,  the  war  would  close 
and  we  would  all  be  at  home  before  Spring. 
For  this  they  furnished  us  abundant  proof 
from  the  Northern  press.  As  the  day  of 
election  approached,  we  became  deeply  in- 
terested, and  but  little  was  talked  of  but 
the  great  question  at  issue  and  the  proba- 
ble result. 

Oh,  how  anxious  we  were  to  go  home! 
To  leave  all  that  wretchedness  behind!  But 
did  we  want  the  questions  of  the  war  to 
fail  in  order  that  we  could  go  home? 

If  Lincoln  was  elected  it  meant  that  the 
war  would  go  on;  that  we  would  probably 
have  to  languish  in  prison  for  dreary 
months  to  come.  To  many  it  meant  death 
by  sloiv  torture! 

We  became  somewhat  excited,  and  de- 
termined to  vote  on  the  questions  our- 
selves. We  knew  our  vote  would  not  be 
counted  in  the  returns,  but  we  wanted  to 
know  how  the  prisoners  would  vote. 

We  made  all  needed  arrangements  to  se- 
cure a  fair  election,  and  when  the  day 
came  we  voted.  We  had  no  electors  on  our 


136  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

tickets,  but  voted  directly  for  Lincoln  and 
McClellan.  I  do  not  remember  the  exact 
number  of  votes  cast  for  each  candidate, 
but  it  was  about  eight  thousand  for  Lincoln 
and  fifteen  hundred  for  "  Little  Me.,"  in  a 
camp  of  ten  thousand. 

Does  the  reader  of  to-day  understand  that 
vote?  What  did  it  mean  ?  What  did  it  say 
to  those  rebel  officers  who  watched  it  so 
closely?  It  meant  that  we  were  willing  to 
chill  and  starve;  to  endure  the  horrors  of 
prison  pens;  to  die,  or  worse,  to  become -lu- 
natics and  idiots  if  need  be,  rather  than  see 
the  war  closed  with  dishonor  to  the  Amer- 
ican flag.  It  said  to  those  rebels,  Do  your 
worst,  we'll  never  ask  you  for  peace. 

It  says  to  the  historian :  You  may  take  at 
random  four  names  out  of  five,  from  the 
lists  of  our  volunteer  soldiers  and  write 
them  by  the  side  of  Marcus  Regulus,  of 
immortal  fame. 

The  rebels  had  counted  us  in  companies 
of  one  hundred,  for  the  purpose  of  issuing 
rations  to  us.  Each  company  had  a  mess 
sergeant,  whose  duty  it  was  to  call  up  his 
hundred,  to  be  counted  in  the  morning,  and 


PBISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  1S7 

to  draw  and  divide  the  rations  in  the  after- 
noon. We  voted  by  these  company  hun- 
dreds, in  this  election.  Rebel  officers  were 
in  the  pen  nearly  all  the  day,  watching  for 
the  result.  But  in  the  afternoon  when  we 
began  to  count  the  vote,  and  the  "  Lincoln 
hirelings  "  began  to  shout,  and  the  "  Mud- 
sills" began  to  sing  "The  Star-Spangled 
Banner,"  "  Red,  White  and  Blue,"  etc.,  they 
left  in  disgust. 

I  met  one,  a  major,  down  by  the  bridge, 
as  he  was  leaving.  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  returns.  He  answered: 

"That's  yo  affah,  suh;  I  don't  care  how 
you  vote!    Jeff  Davis  is  my  candidate."- 
Yet  something  in  his  tone  did  belie  his 
words.    We  serenaded  the  guard  that  night 
by  singing  "John  Brown." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


ENLISTMENTS. 

When  we  were  in  Andersonville  there 
were  many  attempts  to  find  mechanics  and 
artisans  among  the  prisoners. 

Calls  were  made  for  shoemakers,  machin- 
ists, blacksmiths,  etc.  The  rebel  authorities 
offered  to  furnish  food  and  clothing  and  pay 
good  wages  to  any  one  who  would  go  out 
on  parole  and  work  in  their  shops.  It  was 
a  great  temptation  to  mechanics  who  were 
starving  in  filth  and  rags;  and  a  good 
many  yielded  to  it  and  went  out.  I  will 
say,  though,  that  but  few  native  Americans 
(138) 


PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE.  139 

were  among  them.  They  were  generally 
foreigners  who  did  not  fully  understand 
the  war  and  its  issues. 

It  was  also  intimated  that  if  any  one 
would  enlist  in  their  army,  he  would  re- 
ceive rations  and  pay  as  a  soldier,  but  while 
in  Andersonville  I  saw  no  strong  effort  to 
induce  any  one  to  enlist.  But  in  Camp 
Lawton,  soon  after  the  Presidential  elec- 
tion, rebel  recruiting  officers  came  into  the 
pen  and  openly  and  boldly  tried  to  hire 
men  to  join  the  rebel  army. 

They  offered  any  one  a  good  suit  and  fifty 
dollars  (Confederate)  at  once,  and  would 
take  him  out  and  put  him  on  full  rations, 
as  soon  as  he  would  sign  his  name  to  their 
muster  roll. 

Winter  was  rapidly  coming.  Already  its 
cold,  driving  rains  and  a  few  chilling  frosts 
had  reached  our  wretched  abode — if  you 
can  call  an  open  field  an  abode.  You  need 
not  travel  twenty  rods  to  view  a  thousand 
naked  backs,  turning  purple  in  the  cold, 
bleak  wind.  Our  own  Government  had  re- 
fused to  exchange  us.  There  seemed  to  be 
no  prospect  of  escape.  The  prospect  of 


140  PRISON    LIFE    IN   DIXIE. 

staying  alive  in  there  was  about  as  hope- 
less. Is  it  strange  that  they  found  a  few 
men  who  were  willing  to  swear  allegiance 
to  the  Confederacy — with  the  mental  reser- 
vation that  they  would  desert  as  soon  as 
they  could? 

As  I  look  back  across  sixteen  years  at 
those  events,  my  surprise  is.  that  so  few 
could  be  found  who  would  go!  I  forget  the 
exact  number,  but  I  think  about  seventy 
enlisted  at  that  time.  Less  than  one  in  a 
hundred. 

After  their  names  had  been  obtained,  a 
drum  beaten  at  the  gate  called  them  out. 
As  they  went  over  the  creek  toward  the 
gate,  thousands — almost  the  entire  camp- 
crossed  over  to  see  them  go  out;  and  the 
miserable  wretches  had  to  run  a  gauntlet 
of  the  fiercest  hisses  and  blood-curdling 
curses  that  ever  saluted  mortal  ears!  And 
only  the  presence  of  a  strong  rebel  guard 
prevented  that  vast  mob  from  falling  upon 
them,  then  and  there.  Such  an  hour  of 
fierce  excitement  leaves  its  track  on  the 
soul  for  years.  To-day,  as  memory  calls  it 
up,  my  hand  trembles  under  its  influence. 


PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE. 


141 


About  the  last  of  November,  the  rebel 
sergeants  came  into  camp  just  after  noon 
and  gave  orders  to  about  half  the  prisoners 
to  get  ready  to  go  out  that  evening.  This 
order  threw  the  camp  into  the  wildest  ex- 
citement. "Is  it  an  exchange?"  "Where 
are  we  going?"  "Why  are  we  moved?" 
We  pelted  the  Johnnies  with  such  ques- 
tions to  no  purpose.  They  told  us  they  knew 
nothing  about  it.  We  were  all  anxious 
to  go.  Not  only  the  hundreds  that  were 
ordered,  but  all  the  rest  took  down  their 
meager  tents  and  rolled  them  up,  and  at 
sunset  the  whole  camp  was  massed  at  the 
gate,  impatiently  waiting  for  it  to  open. 

The  first  hundred  was  called.  A  hundred 
was  counted  out.  Not  the  hundred  that 
had  messed  together;  for  wherever  there 
was  a  weak  or  sick  man  in  the  squad,  he 
was  unceremoniously  crowded  out  by  a 
stronger  man  of  another  hundred.  No  man 
said,  "by  your  leave."  It  was  a  grand 
illustration  of  the  "  survival  of  the  fittest." 
Selfishness  ruled  supreme.  Groans,  curses 
and  blows  mingled,  as  men  struggled  to 
keep  in  place,  or  crowded  to  find  one  by 


142  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

displacing  some  one  else.  Since  "Oats"  has 
turned  preacher,  and  is  trying  to  walk  in 
the  path  of  peace,  I  think  I  had  better  not 
tell  in  what  part  of  the  column  he  went 
out. 

We  were  loaded  on  trains,  and  run  down 
to  Millen  Junction,  where  we  remained 
closely  guarded  until  after  midnight.  We 
tried  to  find  out  from  the  guard  our  desti- 
nation, but  they  either  did  not  know  or 
would  not  tell.  After  a  weary  delay  they 
pulled  out  on  the  Savannah  road,  and  ran 
at  unusual  speed — for  a  freight  train — for 
thirty  or  forty  miles,  when  they  stopped 
and  went  into  a  sidetrack  at  a  station,  in 
the  midst  of  a  dreary,  swampy  flat,  where 
we  remained  until  daylight. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


LIFE  ON  THE  RAILEOAD. 

The  next  day  we  rolled  along  over  what 
seemed  to  be  a  great,  monotonous  plain,  as 
wide  and  as  flat  as  the  broad  prairies  of 
Northeastern  Illinois  or  Northern  Indiana. 
The  poor,  sandy  plains  were  timbered  with 
pitch  pine,  and  where  the  land  became 
swampy,  cypress  took  the  place  of  the  pine. 
Once  in  a  while  we  would  see  a  clearing, 
sometimes  quite  a  large  plantation,  but 
more  than  nine-tenths  of  the  land  was  cov- 
ered by  the  primitive  forest,  almost  as  wild 
as  when  the  Creeks  and  Cherokees  hunted 
deer  through  its  thickets. 
(143) 


144  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

After  a  while  the  scenery  began  to  change. 
Plantations  were  closer  together.  Instead 
of  rude  cabins,  we  had  occasional  glimpses 
of  palatial  residences,  surrounded  by  beau- 
tiful groves  and  parks.  And  the  monotony 
of  the  forest  was  broken  by  the  frequent 
sight  of  live  oak,  palmetto  and  other  South- 
ern trees,  till,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  ran 
into  Savannah. 

Savannah  has  been  called  a  beautiful 
city.  I  don't  know  much  about  it,  but 
what  t  saw  did  not  impress  me  favorably. 
One  thing  I  do  know — I  could  tind  better 
hotel  accommodations  even  in  Chicago,  than 
were  furnished  me  by  the  C.  S.  Government. 
We  were  corralled  on  some  vacant  lots,  in 
the  southern  part  of  the  city — almost  out 
of  town. 

Some  of  the  boys  escaped  the  guard  and 
went  into  town,  but  they  were  caught  and 
brought  back  the  next  day.  They  then 
loaded  us  on  the  cars — that  had  been  kept 
ready  for  us  all  this  time — and  crossed  the 
Ogeechee,  a  river  that  empties  into  the  At 
lantic  a  short  distance  south  of  Savannah. 

This  river  meanders  with  sluggish  cur- 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  145 

rent  through  vast  marshes  almost  anywhere 
six  or  eight  miles  wide,  and  its  broad,  flat 
bottoms  make  the  best  rice-producing  lands 
in  Georgia.  Immense  plantations  stretch 
away  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.  Nothing 
but  rice-fields  in  sight.  The  planters  who 
own  these  lands  do  not  live  on  them.  Even 
the  slaves  were  not  kept  here  except  for 
short  intervals  while  caring  for  the  crop. 
All  have  higher  and  dryer  places  in  which 
to  live. 

After  crossing  the  river  and  its  wide 
marshes,  our  train  stopped  in  the  side  track 
at  the  first  station. 

We  had  the  blues.  It  would  not  be  hard 
to  guard  us  there.  Suppose  we  slip  out  and 
escape  our  guard,  that  long  trestle-work 
over  which  we  came  will  be  closely  guard- 
ed, and  we  cannot  cross  that  swampy  river. 
Such  thoughts  filled  us  with  gloom. 

We  remained  at  that  station  all  the  next 
day.  A  great  number  of  trains  passed  that 
day,  all  going  south  or  southwest.  (We 
were  on  the  Savannah  &  Gulf  R.  R.)  Every 
train  was  loaded  with  household  goods,  live- 
stock and  negroes.  The  passenger  trains 
10 


146  PEISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

were  crowded,  till  every  platform  was  full 
of  men.  All  seemed  excited  and  uneasy. 
We  begged  a  daily  paper,  and  found  that 
Sherman  was  loose  in  Georgia.  Then  we 
got  excited. 

That  explained  our  removal  from  Camp 
Lawton.  We  asked  every  one  that  passed, 
"Where's  Sherman?"  He  was  then  in  the 
heart  of  the  State,  not  far  from  the  prison 
we  had  left.  Every  time  a  train  stopped  at 
our  station,  we  would  salute  its  passengers 
with  "John  Brown." 

The  rising  generation  will  never  appre- 
ciate that  song.  As  sung  by  the  soldiers,  it 
had  a  power  and  unction  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. It  was  played  and  sung  in  every 
conquered  city  of  the  South.  Every  prison 
heard  its  melody. 

We  were  full  of  hope.  We  thought  that 
when  Sherman  got  through  to  the  coast  he 
would  send  his  cavalry  and  release  us.  The 
night  before,  we  were  sad  and  cast  down 
because  of  the  vast  swamps  that  lay  be- 
tween us  and  home.  That  night  we  were 
full  of  hope  and  joy  because  we  thought  our 
forces  were  coming  to  our  relief. 


PEISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  147 

The  next  day  we  were  taken  farther 
down  the  road,  and  stopped  at  another  sta- 
tion, the  name  of  which  I  have  forgotten; 
and  the  day  following,  we  crossed  the  Alta- 
maha  river  and  stopped  at  Blackshear 
station.  This  station  is  just  north  of  the 
Okopinokee  swampj  that  covers  three  or 
four  thousand  square  miles  of  the  south- 
eastern corner  of  Georgia.  The  whole 
country,  after  crossing  the  Altamaha  is  the 
poorest  and  dreariest  I  ever  saw. 

A  series  of  swamps,  ponds  and  sandy 
glades  in  endless  monotony.  Once  in  a 
while  we  would  pass  in  sight  of  a  habita- 
tion, three  or  four  acres  partly  cleared  by 
deadening  the  large  trees  and  cutting  down 
the  small  growth.  In  the  midst  of  these 
dead  trees,  a  cabin  of  one  room,  with  a  mud 
chimney  at  one  end,  and  a  door  on  one  side, 
no  windows— didn't  need  any,  as  the  cracks 
were  unchinked — is  a  fair  picture  of  an  av- 
erage home  in  that  part  of  the  State.  A 
corn  patch,  cultivated  among  the  dead 
trees,  and  yielding  not  more  than  ten  bush- 
els per  acre,  supplies  the  family  with  bread. 


148  PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE. 

A  cotton  patch  clothes  it,  and  the  rifle  and 
fishing-rod  supply  the  rest. 

If  the  country  looked  flat,  the  citizens 
looked  flatter.  They  are  the  class  known 
in  the  South  as  the  "Poor  white  trash," 
against  whom  even  the  negro  will  curl  his 
lip  in  contempt. 

A  sample  citizen,  is  tall,  lean,  flat-chest- 
ed, dull-eyed,  pale-faced,  and  stoop-shoul- 
dered. He  has  a  way  of  stretching  his 
long,  slim  neck  at  almost  a  right  angle  with 
the  general  perpendicular  of  his  body, 
which  keeps  his  head  a  long  way  in  ad- 
vance. If  he  should  carry  an  umbrella  to 
protect  his  head  from  a  rain,  the  water 
would  run  off  of  it  down  the  back  of  his 
neck. 

I  don't  remember  seeing  a  four-wheeled 
vehicle  in  that  country,  except  the  few 
army  wagons  that  our  guard  had  with 
them.  We  frequently  saw  two-wheeled 
carts,  sometimes  drawn  by  a  yoke  of  oxen, 
sometimes  by  one  horse,  and  in  a  few  in- 
stances by  one  ox.  We  saw  horses  har- 
nessed to  carts,  with  a  collar  of  corn-husks 
and  harness  composed  partly  of  hickory 


PRISON   LIFE    IN   DIXIE.  149 

bark  and  withes.  The  driver  rides  the 
horse,  putting  his  bare  feet  on  the 
shafts,  which  serve  as  stirrups.  This  posi- 
tion brings  his  knees  almost  on  a  level  with 
his  horse's  ears,  and  gives  him  quite  a  pic- 
turesque appearance.  If  he  is  taking  his 
lady-love  out  for  a  ride,  she  sits  flat  on  the 
bottom  of  the  cart,  while  he  rides  and 
guides  the  horse.  Romantic — isn't  it? 

Blackshear  is  a  scrawny  town.  I  believe 
it  is  a  county-seat,  but  as  I  have  described 
the  county  that  sits  there,  I  can  let  you 
imagine  the  seat. 

Almost  starved  and  worn  out,  we  landed 
here,  were  taken  off  the  cars,  and  marched 
into  the  woods  to  a  new  prison. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


SENT  BACK  TO  ANDERSONVILLE. 

In  the  pine  woods,  about  a  mile  from 
Blackshear,  we  were  corralled  on  about 
five  acres  of  ground. 

There  was  no  wall  or  fence  to  enclose  us. 
A  dead-line  was  staked  off,  and  outside  of  it 
another  row  of  stakes  marked  the  line  of 
sentinels,  who  stood  about  ten  or  fifteen 
steps  apart,  all  around  us,  ready  to  shoot 
any  one  who  passed  the  first  row  of  stakes. 

Had  there  been  nothing  between  us  and 
liberty  -except  that  guard,  we  could  have 
broke^through  and  escaped;  but  the  mem- 
(150) 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  151 

ory  of  those  wide  rivers  and  dreary  swamps, 
and  the  fact  that  it  was  now  winter,  made 
us  hesitate  to  run  a  gauntlet  of  hounds  and 
patrolmen,  and  probable  starvation.  Then, 
too,  the  fact  that  they  built  no  wall  around 
us,  and  no  quarters  for  themselves,  made 
us  think  they  did  not  intend  to  keep  us 
there  very  long. 

We  drew  raw  rations,  about  the  same  as 
at  Millen  prison;  but  a  few  of  us  improved 
them  slightly  by  "  flanking."  The  trick  of 
"flanking"  a  ration  was  not  possible  at 
Anclersonville  or  Millen,  where  we  were 
carefully  counted  into  and  out  of  the  pen. 
But  here  we  were  all  massed  in  the  grove, 
and  the  guard  placed  around  us,  and  then 
ordered  to  form  into  companies  of  one  hun- 
dred to  be  counted  for  rations.  One  rebel 
sergeant  had  about  ten  of  these  companies 
to  count  and  report.  As  soon  as  one  squad 
had  been  counted  and  marked  full,  the 
"  flanker  "  would  drop  out  of  line,  and  by 
careful  dodging  and  skulking  would  take 
his  place  in  another  hundred,  before  the 
sergeant  would  get  to  it,  and  thus  get 
himself  counted  again.  Of  course  wherever 


152  PRISON  LIFE  IN   DIXIE. 

he  could  succeed  in  being  counted  he  took  a 
"mess  number,"  and  drew  a  ration.  When 
the  rations  came  in  he  had  to  have  a  chum 
to  assist  him,  and  usually  two  or  three 
divided  the  extra  ration  thus  obtained. 

When  we  were  counted  onto  the  train  to 
take  us  away,  it  was  found  that  the  number 
of  men  reported  for  rations  exceeded  the 
actual  number  in  the  pen  about  seven  hun- 
dred. At  least  we  were  informed  that  such 
was  the  case  by  the  rebels  themselves. 

We  had  been  in  this  place  but  a  few  days 
when  we  were  informed  that  a  special  ex- 
change of  ten  thousand  sick  and  wounded 
prisoners  was  ordered  to  take  place  imme- 
diately, and  that  two  thousand  were  to  be 
taken  from  our  pen.  This  news  threw  us 
into  a  fever  of  excitement;  and  when,  two 
days  later  they  began  to  take  out  the  num- 
ber, the  law  of  self-preservation  brought 
out  the  worst  elements  of  human  nature. 
Sick  men,  whose  lives  depended  on  their 
getting  out,  were  cheated  out  of  their 
chance,  and  some  of  the  stoutest  and  heart- 
iest men  there  feigned  sickness  and  wounds 
and  got  away.  They  were  taken  to  Savan- 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  153 

nah,  where  a  part  of  them  were  exchanged 
about  the  middle  of  December.  The  re- 
mainder were  sent  back  in  a  few  days. 

One  evening,  just  at  dusk,  about  a  thou- 
sand of  us  broke  guard,  and  took  to  the 
woods.  We  thought  to  try  to  find  the  At- 
lantic coast,  but  we  were  soon  caught  and 
brought  back.  The  enterprise  failed  so 
completely  that  it  is  scarcely  worth  the 
mention.  I  was  one  of  those  who  tried  it. 
All  the  comfort  we  had  was  the  satisfaction 
of  making  the  Johnnies  rattle  around  live- 
ly to  overhaul  us  and  get  us  back. 

We  stayed  at  Blackshear  about  two 
weeks;  I  do  not  remember  the  exact  time. 
We  were  then  loaded  on  the  cars  and  taken 
to  Thomasville,  which  is  near  the  south- 
west corner  of  the  State.  Here  we  were 
corralled  and  guarded  in  the  same  manner 
as  at  Blackshear, 

I  think  the  country  around  Thomasville 
is  about  as  fine  as  can  be  found  in  Georgia. 
The  soil  is  good,  and  the  climate  mild 
enough  for  figs  to  grow  out  of  doors. 

We  were  left  here  about  a  week,  when 
all  who  could  walk  were  made  to  march 


154  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

sixty  miles  across  the  country  to  Albany. 
I  do  not  know  what  became  of  the  sick 
who  could  not  walk.  We  never  saw  them 
any  more. 

On  this  march,  Tom  B ,  my  old  chum 

of  the  swamps,  slipped  his  guard  and  went 
to  a  farm-house  and  got  a  square  meal,  and 
then  told  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  and 
let  the  old  citizen  arrest  him  and  bring 
him  back. 

At  Albany  we  were  crowded  in  and 
around  the  depot.  Many  of  the  citizens 
came  down  to  see  us  and  talk  with  us.  The 
guard  was  kind,  and  allowed  us  to  talk 
with  them.  Some  were  pleasant  and  agree- 
able, and  others  were  ill-natured  and  quar- 
relsome. Some  wanted  to  know  what  "You- 
alls  want  to  fight  we-uns  for."  Some  ask- 
ed us  to  sing  a  song,  and  we  gave  them 
•'John  Brown,"  with  a  chorus  of  three  or 
four  thousand  voices.  That  song  always 
touched  the  right  spot. 

The  next  day  two  or  three  trains  of  cars 
backed  in.  We  were  soon  aboard.  Now, 
where? 

To  Andersonville! 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  155 

On  Christmas  Day.  The  day  of  peace 
and  good-will ;  when  all  the  earth  was  glad- 
ness and  song;  when  all  were  trying  to  see 
how  much  happiness  they  could  enjoy  and 
give;  when  there  was  feasting  and  merri- 
ment, and  sweet  surprises,  in  Christian 
homes!  Yes,  on  that  day,  as  if  to  make  our 
lives  blacker  by  the  contrast  of  pleasant 
recollections,  we  were  brought  back  to  Ari- 
dersonville. 

About  two  o'clock  p.  M.  we  were  counted 
through  the  double  gate.  Old  Wirtz  was 
there,  cursing  us  as  we  entered.  "You 
come  back!  You  flank  me — I  keep  you,"- 
blurting  out  short  sentences  and  long 
oaths. 

About  the  first  of  October  Tom  and  I  had 
left  that  horrible  pen,  hoping  never  to  see 
it  again.  After  all  our  weary  toil  and 
changing  scenes  and  prisons,  we  are  back 
at  last  to  the  starting  point! 

About  ten  thousand  went  to  Blackshear. 
Some  of  them  were  exchanged;  some  died; 
some  were  left  sick  at  Thomasville, — about 
seven  thousand  returned  to  Anderson vi  lie. 
A  few  sick  ones  had  remained  there  all  the 


156  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

time,  but  not  many — perhaps  two  thousand. 
We  all  settled  on  the  south  side  of  the 
brook.  The  north  side,  that  had  contained 
a  population  of  twenty  thousand  in  the 
crowded  period  of  August  and  September, 
contained  but  a  few  stragglers  on  the  1st 
of  January.  On  the  south  side  we  were 
thickly  settled,  but  not  crowded  as  we 
were  before. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


ANDERSONVILLE  IN  WINTER. 

It  was  now  the  dead  of  winter.  It  rained 
about  four  days  of  a  week,  and  was  cloudy 
and  damp  nearly  all  the  time.  Heavy  east 
winds  prevailed.  We  seldom  saw  the  sun 
shine.  Our  sack-tent,  that  never  did  keep 
the  rain  out,  was  now  rotten  and  torn  till 
we  had  to  patch  it  nearly  all  over  with  such 
scraps  of  old  shirts,  pants,  or  blankets,  as 
we  could  find. 

The  rebel  authorities  allowed  a  detail  of 
three  men  from  each  hundred  to  go  out— 
under  guard — to  the  woods  to  pick  limbs 
(157) 


158  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

and  such  other  pieces  of  wood  as  we  could 
find,  for  fuel.  There  was  an  abundance  of 
good  wood  all  around  us,  but  we  had  no 
axes  with  which  to  prepare  it,  and  had  to 
content  ourselves  with  such  scraps  as  old 
Time  and  Storm  had  prepared.  The  best 
of  it  was  where  pine  logs  had  rotted  and 
left  the  knots.  These,  being  full  of  tar, 
burned  freely  in  the  dampest  weather. 

In  this  way  about  two  hundred  men  went 
out  every  day,  and  returned  with  an  arm- 
full  or  a  shoulder-load  of  wood.  We  soon 
picked  up  all  that  we  could  get,  near  the 
stockade,  and  had  to  go  farther  and  farther 
into  the  woods.  I  think  most  of  our  wood 
was  carried  three-fourths  of  a  mile.  We 
were  too  weak  to  carry  a  large  load  so  far, 
but  we  did  our  best.  I  know  that  when  I 
got  out  I  carried  in  a  load  that  gave  me 
the  thumps. 

When  we  got  our  wood  home,  with  a 
railroad  spike  for  a  wedge,  and  a  pine  knot 
for  a  maul,  we  split  it;  and  broke  it  up  fine 
so  as  to  make  it  go  as  far  as  possible — and 
even  then  we  were  without  wood  most  of 
the  time, 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  159 

Think  of  it!  Three  men  from  a  hundred 
go  out  every  day.  If  you  get  out  to-day,  it 
will  be  thirty-three  days — or  nearly  five 
weeks — before  your  turn  comes  again!  It 
would  take  a  strong  man  to  carry  wood 
enough  to  keep  him  dry  and  warm  for  five 
weeks. 

Here,  again,  the  strong  took  advantage 
of  the  week.  If  a  man  was  sick  and  weak, 
some  stronger  man  would  give  him  a  chew 
of  tobacco,  or  a  spoonful  of  rice,  for  his 
"turn"  to  go  for  wood.  Then,  with  one- 
fourth  his  load  of  wood  he  could  buy  two  or 
three  times  as  much  rice  or  tobacco  as  he 
paid  for  the  "turn;"  and  very  likely  in  the 
course  of  a  week  or  two,  when  a  cold  rain 
had  fallen  all  night,  you  would  find  the 
weak  man,  in  a  hole  in  the  sand,  doubled 
up  likea  jackknife,  chilled  to  death! 

Does  some  one  say,  "That  must  have 
been  a  mean  set  in  Andersonville,  to  treat 
each  other  so?"  Look  around  you.  Even 
in  the  Northern  States,  I  see  the  strong  and 
shrewd  taking  advantage  of  the  weak  and 
simple.  "  Let  him  that  is  without  sin  cast 
the  first  stone." 


160  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

One  way  we  had  to  keep  warm,  those 
damp,  chilly  days,  was  to  dig  a  funnel- 
shaped  hole  in  the  sand,  about  four  feet  in 
diameter,  and  two  feet  deep.  Four  of  us 
would  sit  in  this  hole.  Our  feet  would  be 
together  in  the  bottom;  our  knees  together 
in  the  center;  then  leaning  forward  till  our 
heads  were  almost  together,  we  would 
spread  our  blanket  over  the  pile,  and  draw 
it  down  close  to  the  edges — thus  keeping 
in  the  heat  of  our  bodies  and  the  warmth 
of  our  breath.  I  have  sat  in  such  a  hole 
frequently  all  day,  except  time  enough  to 
draw  and  eat  my  rations.  Some  dug  these 
holes  larger  and  deeper  than  the  one  I 
have  described,  and  eight  or  ten  would 
get  into  them. 

Those  were  dreary  days.  It  rained  al- 
most constantly  during  January.  There 
was  plenty  of  timber  all  around  us.  We 
would  have  gladly  cut  and  carried  it,  and 
built  huts  and  fires.  There  is  no  apology 
for  not  letting  us  do  so.  Hundreds  chilled 
to  death  for  want  of  them.  They  were  mur- 
dered— brutally,  in  cold  blood ! 

Once  in  a  while  we  would  have  a  clear 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  161 

day,  and  we  would  dry  our  clothes  and 
blankets,  take  down  our  tents,  and  let  the 
sun  dry  the  sand  on  which  we  slept,  pull  off 
our  clothes  and  kill  the  vermin  on  them— 
and  feel  comparatively  comfortable  and 
happy. 

About  the  first  of  Januaiy  a  few  prisoners 
were  brought  in,  who  told  us  that  Sherman 
had  reached  the  sea,  at  Savannah,  and  had 
turned  northward  into  Carolina.  So  the 
last  lingering  hope  that  he  would  rescue  us 
died  within  us.  A  few  days  later  a  squad 
of  prisoners  came  in  from  the  western 
division  of  the  army,  and  brought  the  news 
of  the  battle  of  Nashville,  and  told  us  how 
"Pap"  Thomas  had  utterly  crushed  Hood's 
army.  .  Among  these  prisoners,  was  one 
called  "Old  Beard"— a  nomine  de  querre — of 
my  own  regiment.  He  brought  us  much 
news  from  our  comrades  who  escaped  when 
we  were  captured,  and  gave  us  a  history  of 
subsequent  campaigns,  such  as  only  one 
soldier  can  give  to  another. 

This  was  the  last  reliable  news  we  re- 
ceived till  it  was  all  over.    I  can't  describe 
11 


162  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

the  suspense,  the  anxiety,  that  almost  con- 
sumed us,  and  I  will  not  try. 

During  the  winter  the  guard  relaxed 
much  of  its  sternness  and  rigor,  and  many 
of  the  men  who  composed  it  were  willing 
to  enter  into  conversation  and  traffic  with 
us,  when  their  officers  were  not  in  sight. 
This  gave  rise  to  several  manufacturing 
industries.  One  was  carving  pipes.  Some 
of  the  boys,  when  they  got  out  for  wood, 
would  dig  greenbriar-roots,  and  from  these, 
and  other  kinds  of  wood,  finely-carved  pipes 
were  made.  Frequently  two  or  three  weeks' 
labor  was  expended  on  a  single  pipe,  which 
was  then  sold  for  a  half  gallon  of  "nigger 
peas,"  a  quart  of  meal,  or  three  dollars 
"Confed." 

Another  branch  of  business  was  carving 
toothpicks.  'These  were  made  from  the 
bones  of  meat  that  we  drew,  and,  like  the 
pipes,  they  were  valuable  in  proportion  to 
the  amount  of  labor  bestowed  on  them. 

Bob  Me made  toothpicks.  His  kit  of 

tools  consisted  of  a  piece  of  an  old  case- 
knife,  one  side  of  it  cut  full  of  notches  for  a 
saw;  a  brick-bat,  which  he  used  for  grind- 


PRISON   LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  163 

stone,  file.,  and  polisher;  and  a  piece  of 
coarse  needle  fastened  into  a  bone  handle, 
and  ground  flat-pointed,  which  served  as  a 
drill  or  boring  machine.  With  such  a  set 
of  tools,  if  he  had  favorable  weather,  he 
could  turn  out  two  good  toothpicks  per 
month. 

Still  another  branch  of  business  (  ?)  car- 
ried on  at  this  time,  was  "  raising  "  Confed- 
erate notes.  Confederate  money  was  poor- 
ly made,  both  in  design  and  execution. 
The  "ones"  and  "twos,"  and  "tens"  and 
''twenties"  were  almost  alike,  except  in 
the  figures  that  told  their  denomination. 
If  a  man  could  get  a  one  or  two-dollar  bill, 
he  knew  where  to  take  it  and  have  it  con- 
verted into  a  ten  or  twenty — "All  work 
done  in  the  best  style  of  art  and  warranted 
to  pass."  In  buying  beans  or  meal  with 
this  money,  we  always  aimed  to  trade  so  as 
to  get  one  or  two  small  bills  in  change  so 
that  we  could  make  another  "  raise."  I  ex- 
pect that  good  brother  who  thought  we 
stole  the  sacks  from  the  quartermaster,  will 
think  this  looks  like  counterfeiting.  It  doeg 
look  that  way,  and  had  those  Yanks  been 


164  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

caught  at  it,  they  might  have  been  sent  to 
Andersonville! — the  worst  imprisonment  I 
can  think  of — and  sentenced  to  remain 
there  as  long  as  Confederate  money  had  a 
value. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE   GENERAL   EXCHANGE. 

During  the  month  of  February  the  rebels 
furnished  material,  and  detailed  a  lot  of 
prisoners — giving  them  extra  rations — and 
had  three  sheds  erected. 

These  sheds  were  about  twenty-five  feet 
wide,  by  one  hundred  and  fifty  long;  about 
five  feet  high  at  the  eaves,  and  ten  or 
twelve  feet  high  in  the  center — roofed 
with  boards,  and  left  open  on  all  sides. 
They  were  designed  for  a  shelter  for  those 
who  had  no  blankets  or  tents  of  any  kind; 
and  during  a  hard  rain  one  thousand  men 
(165) 


166  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

would  crowd  under  each  shed.  When  it 
was  not  raining  most  of  the  men  preferred 
to  remain  outside,  on  account  of  the  ver- 
min— especially  fleas — which  were  so  much 
worse  in  the.  dry  sand  under  these  roofs 
than  in  other  parts  of  the  prison. 

In  the  different  narratives  of  Anderson- 
ville  prison  life,  I  have  never  seen  any  ac- 
count of  the  building  of  these  sheds;  but  I 
am  glad  to  give  to  the  notorious  Winder 
and  Wirtz  credit  for  this  much  humanity. 
Perhaps  the  reader  thinks  it  was  no  great 
thing  to  build  such  sheds.  True.  And  yet 
they  were  a  blessing  to  a  number  of 
wretched  prisoners  who  were  almost  naked, 
and  had  there  been  more  of  them,  and  had 
they  been  built  in  the  fall,  they  would  have 
saved  many  lives. 

Thus  the  winter  wore  away.  March 
came;  and  looking  over  the  stockade  to- 
ward the  forest,  we  could  see  the  burst 
buds  and  tender  leaves,  telling  of  spring- 
time and  a  new  year.  We  heard  no  news 
from  the  war,  in  which  we  were  so 
intensely  interested.  What  was  Grant 
doing?  Where  was  Sherman?  What  had 


. 

PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  167 

become  of  Thomas  since  his  victory  at 
Nashville?  These  questions  were  often 
asked — but  as  they  were  never  answered, 
to  ask  them  only  intensified  our  sadness. 

But  the  great  question — the  one  that 
took  precedence  over  all  others,  was:  Why 
don't  our  Government  exchange  prisoners 
and  get  us  out? 

It  was  a  hard  strain  on  our  patriotism 
to  feel  that  we  were  neglected  by  our  own 
Government.  For  we  believed  then,  as  we 
learned  certainly  afterward,  that  we  could 
have  been  exchanged  had  those  in  charge 
of  our  armies  so  desired. 

Many  of  the  men  lying  on  the  wet  ground 
by  night,  and  sitting  on  it  by  day,  had  con- 
tracted colds,  that  settled  on  their  lungs. 
Hundreds  had  that  peculiar  cough  and  that 
brightness  of  the  cheek  and  eye,  that  told 
us  that  consumption  had  set  in;  and  that 
if  they  were  not  soon  exchanged  they 
would  be  beyond  the  reach  of  cartel.  Many 
who  had  despaired  of  ever  getting  well, 
were  anxious  to  go  home  that  they  might 
die  among  friends. 

One  day,  early  in  March,  an  order  was 


168  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

read  at  the  gate,  that  declared  that  a  gen- 
eral exchange  of  prisoners  had  been  agreed 
upon,  and  that  they  would  begin  at  once, 
and  empty  the  prisons  in  Virginia  and  Car- 
olina first,  and  would  probably  reach  An- 
derson ville  in  two  weeks,  or  ten  days. 

This  news  threw  the  camp  into  a  wild 
excitement,  though  I  must  confess  that 
many  of  us  did  not  believe  it.  We  had 
been  deceived  too  often,  and  this  sounded 
so  good  that  we  suspected  it  was  being 
done  to  make  us  docile  while  they  were 
moving  us  somewhere  else. 

But  in  a  few  days  they  gave  us  copies  of 
papers  that  contained  accounts  of  the  re- 
lease of  prisoners  from  Richmond  and  Sauls- 
bury.  Then  we  began  to  believe  and  to 
grow  feverish  with  excitement. 

.In  due  time  rebel  officers  came  in  and 
began  to  enroll  names,  putting  down  rank 
and  regiment.  The  first  call  was  to  take 
out  all  the  sick:  but  they  gave  us  the  wink, 
and  told  us  that  if  any  one  had  any  green- 
backs, or  gold,  they  would  enroll  him  as 
sick,  and  take  him  out  on  the  first  train. 

John  C — ,  Cudge  S —  and  I  were  partners 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  169 

in  the  sack-tent,  and  had  been  bunk-mates 
during  the  whole  of  our  prison  life,  except 
when  I  ran  away. 

John  had  a  gold  breast-pin  that  cost 
two  or  three  dollars  before  the  war, 
which  somehow  had  escaped  all  the  search- 
ings  and  had  remained  in  his  possession  till 
then.  He  took  it  out  of  its  hiding-place, 
examined  and  polished  it,  and  said,  "Boys, 
I  am  going  to  see  what  I  can  do  with  this; 
for  as  likely  as  not  they  will  not  get  out 
more  than  two  or  three  train-loads  till 
something  will  happen  to  break  the  cartel, 
and  we  will  be  left  again." 

He  went;  but  soon  came  back  with  the 
news  that  they  had  all  they  could  take  that 
day.  But  they  told  him  there  would  be 
another  train  in  a  day  or  two. 

So  we  had  to  wait  a  day  or  two.  Then 
they  came  again,  and  John  went  to  buy  his 
liberty  with  the  breast-pin.  He  came  back 
and  said — 

"  Boys,  I  tried  to  take  you  both  out  on 
my  breast-pin,  but  couldn't.  I  can  take 
one — which  shall  it  be?" 

Cudge  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  and 


170  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

both  sprang  to  our  feet.  As  soon  as  we 
could  speak  without  choking,  we  both  told 
him  we  would  leave  it  to  him.  We  all 
three  sat  down  and  began  to  talk  of  home- 
how  long  it  would  take  to  go;  how  glad  we 
would  be  to  get  there;  how  glad  others 
would  be  to  see  us  returned  at  last,  alive! 
Oh,  those  dear  ones!  Could  it  be  possible 
that  we  would  see  them  once  more!  We 
talked  rapidly — excitedly — almost  wildly; 
but  every  little  while  Cudge  and  I  would 
look  at  each  other  and  choke  down.  We 
knew  that  one  must  remain  behind,  for 
only  one  could  go.  I  went  away  for  a  short 
time,  and  when  I  returned  John  looked  at 
me  and  said, 

"  I  reckon  I  will  take  Cudge." 

"  So  you  leave  me  to  die  and  rot  by  my- 
self!" 

They  both  tried  to  cheer  me,  by  telling 
me  that  I  would  soon  follow  them;  but  I 
wouldn't  be  cheered — I  knew  something 
would  happen;  the  exchange  would  be 
stopped,  and  I  would  languish  and  die.  I 
felt  very  much  as  I  did  when  I  was  recap- 
tured after  my  run-away. 


PEISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  171 

With  a  heart  full  of  gloomy  forebodings 
and  bitterness,  I  went  with  them  to  the 
gate.  I  made  Cudge  promise  to  write  a 
letter  to  my  folks  at  home,  telling  them 
that  I  was  alive  at  that  date.  I  told  him 
to  fix  it  up  as  good  as  he  could,  so  as  not  to 
cause  mother  more  sorrow  than  was  actual- 
ly necessary. 

The  whole  prison  was  crowded  around 
the  gate;  and  as  the  names  were  called  by  a 
loud-voiced  rebel,  some  countenance  would 
light  up  with  joy  as  he  answered,  "Here!" 
and  you  would  see  him  struggle  through 
the  crowd  to  the  gate  and  disappear  through 
the  wicket. 

We  three  stood  together,  near  the  dead- 
line. "John  Carey!"  called  the  reb.  Here! — 
and  he  was  through  the  wicket  before  I 
could  look  at  him.  "Allen  Spencer!"  Here! 
Cudge  gave  me  his  hand:  "Good-bye,  Oats." 
"Good-bye,  Cudge," — and  he  slipped  through 
the  wicket  and  the  door  swung  to. 

I  staggered  back  through  the  crowd. 
They  were  gone!  I  had  no  farther  interest 
in  the  gate  or  in  the  crowd.  I  was  alone! 
My  comrades  had  left  me  to  die!  Blinded 


172  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

by  my  tears,  and  sick  through  the  intensity 
of  my  feelings,  I  reached  our  tent — my  tent, 
now — and  lay  down. 

Our  talk  of  home  had  given  me  the  blues. 
I  could  see  nothing  but  darkness  and  sor- 
row, misery  and  death!  I  was  unreason- 
able— mad  at  everything  and  everybody, 
because  I  could  not  get  out.  Like  Job's 
wife,  I  was  ready  to  "  curse  God  and  die." 

But  I  got  over  it  in  a  day  or  two.  How 
do  we  get  down  and  up  under  the  trials  and 
disappointments  of  life?  Who  can  tell? 

The  prisoners  were  taken  to  Vicksburg, 
Mississippi,  for  exchange.  There  was  one 
train-load  taken  after  the  one  that  took  my 
comrades.  Then  came  word  that  Wilson's 
Cavalry  (U.  S.)  had  raided  through  Missis- 
sippi and  Alabama,  and  destroyed  the  rail- 
road over  which  they  were  shipping  the 
prisoners,  so  the  exchange  was  stopped. 

About  eight  thousand  came  from  Black- 
shear — and  about  four  thousand  remained 
when  Wilon's  raid  stopped  the  exchange. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


OUR   LAST    PRISON. 

For  two  weeks  after  the  exchange  was 
stopped,  our  excitement  was  kept  at  white 
heat  by  rumors  of  Wilson's  raid.  At  tirst, 
he  was  in  Mississippi;  next  we  heard  ru- 
mors of  his  movements  in  Alabama.  He 
was  coining  toward  us,  and  we  began  to 
feel  confident  that  instead  of  being  ex- 
changed we  would  be  released.  This  filled 
us  with  hope  and  put  us  in  fine  spirits. 
The  whole  camp  seemed  cheerful,  and  con- 
fident that  we  would  soon  get  out,  in  some 
way. 

(173) 


174  PEISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

After  my  chums  left  me  I  went  into  part- 
nership with  Bob  Me — ,  a  man  who  belong- 
ed to  the  same  company  that  I  did.  He 
was  captured  at  Chicamauga,  in  September, 
1863;  was  taken  to  Richmond,  spent  the 
winter  on  Belle  Isle;  was  taken  from  there 
to  Danville,  Va.,  and  thence  to  Anderson- 
ville.  He  stood  seventeen  months  of  prison 
life — they  couldn't  kill  him!  He  was  a 
short,  thick-set  man,  thirty-eight  or  forty 
years  of  age.  He  was  quite  bald-headed; 
and  had  had  the  scurvy  for  almost  a  year. 
During  the  crowded  term  of  1864,  he  was 
taken  to  the  tent  hospital,  outside  the 
stockade.  He  was  almost  dead  then,  but 
he  ate  sumac-berries  freely,  and  got  better; 
so  much  better,  that  he  and  a  comrade 
started  one  night  to  run  away. 

It  was  a  poor  run.  They  became  entan- 
gled in  the  swamps,  and  only  got  five  or  six 
miles.  The  next  day  they  were  missed. 
The  Andersonville  pack  of  hounds  were 
turned  loose,  and  they  were  treed  before 
night.  For  this  grave  sin  of  trying  to  get 
away,  Bob  was  put  in  the  stocks!  They 
had  a  number  of  these  implements  of  tor- 


PEISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  175 

ture  in  front  of  Wirtz's  quarters.  The 
peculiar  style  of  the  set  in  which  Bob  was 
fastened,  was  a  strong  frame,  with  four 
posts  securing  the  ends  of  two  heavy  tim- 
bers, like  joists;  in  each  of  these  was  a  semi- 
circular notch.  The  joists  were  brought 
together  horizontally  so  as  to  fit  the  notches 
around  a  man's  neck,  and  fastened  there  by 
keys  at  the  ends.  They  were  then  lowered 
so  as  to  depress  the  body  about  three  inches 
lower  than  its  natural  position — so  that  the 
victim  could  neither  straighten  up  nor  sit 
down. 

The  next  morning  after  Bob's  recapture, 
his  neck  was  fastened  in  this  machine,  and 
he  stood  in  this  painful  position  twelve  hours. 
It  was  a  hot  day  in  September,  and  the  sun 
poured  his  burning  rays  upon  Bob's  bare 
bald  head  all  day. 

They  did  not  give  him  a  bite  to  eat  nor  a 
drop  to  drink  during  the  twelve  hours,  al- 
though he  begged  piteously  for  water. 
About  two  o'clock,  the  sun  baking  his  head 
caused  him  to  become  unconscious  for  an 
instant,  and  his  legs  gave  way;  the  back  of 
his  head  and  his  chin  struck  the  timbers 


176  PRISON   LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

with  a  crack  that  brought  him  to  conscious- 
ness suddenly,  and  made  him  think  for  a 
moment  that  his  neck  was  broken.  Though 
his  poor,  scurvied  limbs  ached  as  if  they 
would  break,  he  stood  it  until  sunset.  He 
was  then  released,  received  a  ration  of 
bread,  and  was  turned  into  the  stockade. 

Bob  was  a  jolly,  good-natured  fellow  to 
be  with;  and  by  the  partnership,  we  had  a 
pretty  fair  equipment — for  Andersonville. 
I  had  my  tent,  my  half  blanket,  my  pan, 
that  I  made  out  of  the  car-roofing,  and  a 
railroad-spike.  Bob  had  a  tent  as  good 
as  mine,  which  we  spread  over  mine,  and 
as  the  holes  hardly  ever  came  in  both  at 
the  same  place  one  patched  the  other  brave- 
ly. He  had  a  wooden  bucket  which  he 
had  made,  that  would  hold  a  quart;  an  old 
sock,  which  we  used  for  a  meal-sack  when 
we  drew  our  rations;  it  was  one  of  those 
old  regulation  woolen  socks,  but  it  proved 
•to  be  a  very  useful  article  in  our  household 
economy.  Then  he  had  his  toothpick  tools, 
and  we  became  partners  in  that  industry. 

About  four  o'clock  one  day,  toward  the 
last  of  March,  two  long  trains  stopped  at 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  177 

the  station.  A  guard  was  detailed  in  a 
hurry.  The  counting-sergeants  came  in 
and  ordered  us  to  get  ready  to  go  out  at 
once. 

"How  many  are  you  going  to  take?" 

"  Every  -  -  has  to  be  out  a-foah 

mawnin' !" 

We  guessed  at  once  that  Wilson  was  com- 
ing our  way,  so  we  asked— 

"Where's  Wilson's  raiders?" 

He  answered  in  one  long  word  that 
sounded  like,  "Damifino!" — which  we  inter- 
preted to  mean  that  he  didn't  wish  to  tell. 

We  passed  the  word  around  our  part  of 
the  prison,  "Let's  take  the  last  train,  and 
may  be  Wilson  will  catch  us."  They  hur- 
ried us  all  they  could.  The  first  train  was 
loaded,  and  pulled  out  about  sunset.  Ours 
did  not  get  loaded  till  after  dark.  They 
would  count  off  eighty  men,  and  crowd 
them  up  to  a  car  door,  and  keep  saying— 
"Hurry  up,  dah!  hurry  up,  dah!" 

Our  old  chum,  Tom,  with  whom  the  read- 
er is  well  acquainted,  was  in  the  midst  of 
such  a  squad,  and  instead  of  climbing  into 
the  car  he  crept  under  it,  and  passing  under 


178  PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE. 

the  depot  building,  got  left.  He  kept  him- 
self hid  till  Wilson  came,  and  so  he  got 
away  and  found  his  regiment. 

In  our  train  were  five  flat-cars,  contain- 
ing about  three  hundred  prisoners.  I  was 
on  one  of  these.  They  were  well  to  the 
rear  of  the  train,  with  perhaps  two  or  three 
box-cars  and  a  caboose  behind.  The  guard 
did  not  seem  to  fancy  these  flats,  so  most 
of  them  climbed  onto  the  box-cars  ahead  of 
us.  Soon  after  we  started,  some  one  dis- 
covered that  there  were  but  three  guards 
on  the  five  flats,  and  conceived  the  bold 
project  of  cutting  the  train  and  giving  them 
the  grand  bounce.  The  plan  was,  to  un- 
couple the  rear  boxes,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  sufficiently  to  the  rear — a  mile  or  so— 
to  then  uncouple  the  flats;  and  as  soon  as 
they  stopped,  to  jump  off  and  take  to  the 
woods.  We  knew  that  those  three  guards 
could  not  stop  us,  even  if  they  tried. 

Going  down  a  grade,  the  pin  was  drawn; 
and  we  soon  saw  the  space  widen,  and  the 
rear  cars  grew  dim  in  the  distance.  Now 
for  another  little  grade,  and  then— 

But  our  guard  was  too  vigilant.    One  of 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  179 

« 

those  on  the  flats  discovered  that  the  rear 
was  gone,  and  by  running  over  us  and  jump- 
ing from  car  to  car,  he  managed  to  alarm 
the  guard  on  the  boxes  ahead  of  us,  and 
soon  had  two  men  guarding  each  coupling. 
But  the  train  ran  about  four  miles  before 
they  made  the  engineer  understand  that  he 
had  lost  a  part  of  his  train.  He  then  ran 
on  to  the  first  station,  and  left  us  while  he 
went  back  for  the  rear. 

The  Johnnies  were  badly  scared,  and  ter- 
ribly indignant  at  this  delay.  The  officer 
in  command  flourished  his  pistol  around  us, 
and  swore  that  if  he  knew  who  uncoupled 
the  train  he  would  shoot  him !  But  he  did 
not  know.  It  filled  us  with  exultation  and 
happiness  to  see  the  rebs  so  uneasy. 

About  daylight  we  ran  into  Macon,  and 
stopped,  but  they  did  not  take  us  off  the 
cars.    From  our  train  we  could  see  up  into 
the  business  part  of  town,  and  noticed  a 
number  of  large,  white  flags  floating  over 
the  principal  houses.    We  asked  a  negro 
what  they  were  for,  and  he  said— 
"  Specks  de  Yanks  is  comin' ! " 
The  officers  in  charge  of  us  held  a  hurried 


180  PRISON    LIFE   IN    DIXIE. 

tf 

consultation  with  the  authorities.  The  en- 
gine was  turned  around  and  hitched  to  the 
other  end  of  our  train,  and  by  eight  o'clock 
we  were  steaming  away  down  the  same 
road  we  came  up  the  night  before.  What 
did  they  mean — taking  us  back  to  Ander- 
son ville? 

About  two  or  three  o'clock  p.  M.  we  pass- 
ed Anderson  ville,  and  from  the  cars  we 
took  our  last  look  at  that  pen  of  woe.  They 
took  us  to  Albany — to  Thomasville,  over 
the  same  route  that  we  came  in  December. 
"Where  are  we  going?"  The  rebs  told  us 
that  they  were  taking  us  around  that  way 
to  Savannah,  to  exchange  us — but,  as  usual, 
they  lied. 

They  took  us  eastward  from  Thomasville 
to  a  junction,  the  name  of  which  I  have 
forgotten.  There  we  took  another  road, 
and  ran  southward  till  we  struck  the  Jack- 
sonville &  Tallehasse  railroad,  thence  east- 
ward again  till  we  reached  Lake  City, 
Florida. 

In  sight  of  the  railroad,  about  four  miles 
east  of  Lake  City,  on  an  island— or  more 
properly,  a  peninsula — in  a  vast  cypress 


PRISON   LIFE   IN    DIXIE.  181 

swamp,  we  were  corralled  for  the  last  time. 
Our  prison  was  a  palmetto-covered  knoll,  of 
about  two  acres  area,  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  swamp  and  water,  except  a  narrow 
low  neck  across  which  a  corduroy  road  con- 
nected us  with  the  main  land. 

Here  we  had  plenty  of  fuel.  Pine  and 
cypress  logs  lay  in  rich  abundance  all 
about  us.  When  we  were  there,  during 
April,  the  weather  was  warm  and  dry.  The 
trees  were  full  of  foliage,  and  all  looked 
like  summer-time.  The  weather  was  so 
pleasant  that  we  hardly  needed  clothing. 

I  had  gone  without  a  shirt  all  winter, 
using  my  blouse  instead.  It  had  now  be- 
come so  rotten  and  ragged  that  it  was  riot 
worth  picking  the  lice  off  for  all  the  protec- 
tion it  afforded,  so  I  threw  it  away.  My 
wardrobe  then  consisted  of  pants,  ending 
in  a  neat  (?)  fringe  about  the  knee,  and  a 
leathern  gun-sling,  which  did  duty  as  a  sus- 
pender. From  the  waist,  upward,  I  was 
smoked  and  tanned  to  the  complexion  of 
well-cured  bacon. 

Do  not  think  that  I  was  not  as  well- 
dressed  as  was  fashionable,  for  the  poor  did 


182  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

not  enjoy  a  gun-sling  to  hold  their  pants 
up.  Bob  had  a  pair  of  pants,  and  a  shirt, 
minus  the  sleeves,  that  he  had  made  out  of 
a  blouse  and  piece  of  sack;  he  also  had  a 
piece  of  pants-leg,  which  he  used  for  a  hat. 
He  would  pull  one  end  of  it  on  his  head, 
and  throwing  the  other  end  backward,  he 
looked  like  a  Grand  Turk  in  full  dress. 

While  we  were  in  this  prison  our  rations 
consisted  of  a  pint  of  meal  per  day.  We 
were  there  one  month,  and  drew  nothing 
but  meal  during  our  stay — we  did  not  even 
draw  salt  to  season  it.  Bob  and  I  made 
ours  into  mush  most  of  the  time.  There 
was  plenty  of  it,  such  as  it  was.  One  day 
one  of  the  guards  shot  an  alligator,  about 
eight  feet  long,  which  he  gave  to  the  pris- 
oners. Some  of  the  boys  tried  steaks  off  of 
its  tail.  That  was  the  only  meat  eaten  in 
that  prison. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


"THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER." 


It  was  the  last  of  April,  1865.  Thirty- 
three  hundred  prisoners  were  encamped 
on  that  little  island.  The  quartermaster 
brought  in  our  rations,  and  we  noticed 
more,  sacks  than  usual.  What  does  it 
mean?  The  old  quartermaster  gave  a 
knowing  wink,  and  said  he  was  going  to 
fatten  us.  We  wisely  guessed  that  they 
were  going  to  move  us. 

The  rations  measured  out  three  pints  of 
meal  per  man.  Bob  and  I  had  our  sock 
full,  shook  down,  and  packed — and  then  had 
(183) 


184  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

to  take  part  of  our  rations  in  his  bucket. 

Next  morning  we  were  up  by  times,  and 
were  soon  all  ready  and  waiting  to  see 
what  would  happen.  Soon  a  train  of  cars 
came  down.  We  were  loaded  on,  and  went 
eastward  a  few  miles — as  far  as  the  rails 
were  laid,  as  the  iron  had  been  taken  off 
this  road,  to  mend  others,  nearly  all  the 
way  from  Jacksonville  to  Lake  City. 

When  we  got  to  the  end  of  the  railroad 
we  were  ordered  off  the  cars,  and  marched 
out  on  the  old  road  bed  ahead  of  the  en- 
gine. The  colonel  who  had  command  of 
our  guard  then  made  us  a  speech. 

He  told  us  that  they  were  tired  of  guard- 
ing us.  They  knew  our  time  was  out,  and 
that  we  were  anxious  to  get  home.  They 
were  going  to  the  front  to  fight,  and  so  had 
decided  to  turn  us  loose.  He  advised  us  to 
go  home,  and  stay  there;  and  to  tell  our 
friends  at  the  North  that  we  "  could  never 
whip  the  rebels  in  the  world!"  He  told  us 
to  follow  the  railroad-bed  and  it  would  take 
us  to  Jacksonville — which  was  in  possession 
of  the  Yanks. 

This  is  the  substance  of  his  speech,  al- 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  185 

though  he  embellished  it  with  much  boast- 
ing and  many  oaths. 

The  whole  speech  was  a  lie.  He  was  in- 
cluded in  Johnson's  surrrender  to  Sherman, 
and  was  then  under  orders  to  go  to  Talle- 
hasse  to  turn  over  his  arms  to  the  United 
States  authorities.  This  we  learned  after 
we  got  out. 

After  this  speech  the  guard  opened  ranks, 
and  we  marched  out.  "Good-bye,  John- 
nies!" "Good-bye,  Yanks!" — were  the  part- 
ing salutations. 

Were  we  really  free?  Could  we  go  or 
stop,  as  we  pleased?  It  was  like  a  dream! 
It  was  so  sudden — so  unexpected.  Our 
minds  were  not  prepared  for  it.  We  could 
hardly  realize  it.  We  felt  like  shouting! 
A  great  load  had  been  suddenly  lifted — but 
how?  What  had  become  of  it? 

I  do  not  remember  how  far  we  had  to 
travel.  It  seems  like  it  was  forty-two  miles 
from  our  camp  to  Jacksonville;  but  I  can't 
remember  how  far  they  took  us  on  the  cars. 
I  think  it  was  eight  or  ten  miles,  but  am 
not  sure. 

In  our  excitement  at  being  turned  loose. 


186  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

we  started  off  at  too  rapid  a  rate.  Soon  the 
sick  ones  began  to  fall  by  the  way.  Some 
went  a  mile  and  gave  out;  some  two  or 
three,  and  failed;  others  five  or  six — and  so 
we  were  strung  out  all  along  the  road. 
Bob  and  I  kept  well  up  with  the  head  of 
the  column.  Bob  was  lame  with  scurvy  in 
his  limbs,  but  he  was  plucky;  and  I,  being 
in  fair  health,  carried  his  baggage. 

We  went  as  far  as  we  could  that  day,  and 
hid  in  the  palmettos  at  night.  We  were 
actually  afraid  the  rebels  would  change 
their  minds,  and  come  on  and  overtake  us; 
hence  we  hid  carefully. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  bright  and 
early.  A  goodly  number  of  us  were  on  the 
road,  trudging  eastward,  by  sun-up.  About 
noon  we  came  to  a  creek,  whose  waters 
bore  the  dark  tea-color  of  the  swamp.  As 
it  flowed  smoothly  over  a  sandy  bed,  and 
we  were  tired,  we  stopped  and  bathed,  and 
were  much  refreshed. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we 
saw  an  object  that  looked  like  a  man  on 
horseback,  a  mile  or  so  down  the  road. 
When  we  came  nearer  it  was  gone.  We 


PKISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  187 

came  to  the  place  and  there,  sure  enough, 
was  the  sign  of  a  picket-post.  But  what 
had  become  of  him?  We  did  not  go  far  till 
we  saw  a  troop  of  cavalry  coming  toward 
us.  They  were  too  far  for  us  to  distinguish 
their  uniform,  so  we  halted.  Stragglers 
kept  closing  up  till  we  had  quite  a  com- 
pany, uncertain  what  to  do. 

The  cavalry  halted,  and  drew  up  in  line. 
Then  two  men  were  sent  toward  us  to  see 
what  we  were.  They  doubtless  judged  by 
our  unmilitary  appearance  that  we  were 
not  very  formidable.  When  the  two  sol- 
diers came  near  enough  for  us  to  see  their 
uniform,  a  wild  shout  rent  the  air.  It  was 
taken  up  by  stragglers  in  the  rear,  and  car- 
ried to  others  still  farther  back — to  be  re- 
peated again  and  again, — giving  new  vigor 
to  weary  limbs  that  had  almost  refused  to 
do  duty  longer.  That  shout  doubtless 
reached  three  or  four  miles  back  along 
that  road. 

Yes,  sir!  It  was  the  United  States  uni- 
form! 

I  have  seen  a  good  many  fine  clothes  in 
my  life — but  I  never  saw  anything,  before 


188  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

or  since,  that  looked  so  pretty  as  those 
cavalry  jackets! 

We  started  toward  them  at  once,  and 
went  to  where  the  troop  was  waiting.  If 
we  were  glad  to  see  their  clothes,  they  were 
mad  when  they  saw  ours. 

When  the  commander  of  that  troop  found 
out  who  we  were,  and  looked  at  our  rags 
and  our  wretchedness,  he  stood  up  in  his 
stirrups  and  swore  a  terrible  oath  of  venge- 
ance. And  scarcely  one  of  those  bearded, 
swarthy  troopers  but  turned  away  his  face 
to  hide  the  tears  that  would  come  up,  as 
he  looked  in  amazement  at  our  haggard 
countenances,  meager  skeletons  and  filthy 
rags. 

The  captain  told  us  that  it  was  but  three 
miles  to  Jacksonville,  and  that  he  would  go 
and  have  tents  and  rations  ready  for  us. 

We  came  to  the  infantry  picket-line,  and 
there  dropped  down  for  a  few  minutes' 
rest.  There  were  probably  three  hundred 
of  us  together,  forming  the  head  of  our  col- 
umn. While  we  were  resting  we  asked  the 
officer  of  the  guard  for  news,  and  he  told  us 
that  Richmond  had  fallen, — that  Lee  had 


PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  189 

surrendered, — that  Johnson  had  surrender- 
.ed  to  Sherman, — ^that  the  Confederacy  had 
gone  to  staves,  and  that  Lincoln  was  dead! 

It  is  no  use  trying  to  describe  the  effect 
of  this  news  on  men  in  our  condition.  My 
readers  would  not  understand  it — language 
is  too  feeble. 

We  did  not  need  rest  after  we  heard  the 
news.  We  were  not  a  bit  tired.  We  arose 
and  started  toward  the  town,  which  was 
yet  three-fourths  of  a  mile  distant. 

About  half  way  to  town  we  met  a  "  field 
band"  and  "colors."  We  were  wild  enough 
before,  but  when  we  met  the  flag  we  went 
stark,  raving  crazy.  If  we  had  all  been 
drunk  on  laughing  gas,  we  would  not  have 
acted  worse.  Old  scurvied  fellows  who 
could  not  straighten  a  limb  danced  around 
like  puppets  and  kicked  the  sand  twenty 
feet  high.  Some  cried — some  laughed— 
some  danced — some  sung — some  prayed— 
some  swore.  It  was  a  wonderful  medley. 
We  had  divers  gifts,  but  the  same  spirit. 

One  tall,  ragged  skeleton  began  trying  to 
sing- 

"  Wrap  the  flag  around  me,  boys," 


190  PRISON   LIFE    IN    DIXIE. 

and,  reaching  out  his  gaunt,  fleshless  arms, 
ne  caught  the  folds  of  the  flag,  and  began 
to  wind  it  about  his  vermin-eaten  shoul- 
ders. Another,  and  another,  joined  in  the 
song,  and  caught  at  the  flag,  till  soon  they 
had  it  trailing  on  the  ground,  with  from 
twenty  to  fifty  boys  sprawling  under  and 
over  it. 

• 

The  band  stopped  playing,  and  gazed  in 
amazement  at  the  treatment  their  flag  was 
receiving.  Those  not  engaged  in  the  nag- 
scuffle,  noticing  that  the  music  had  stopped, 
gathered  handfulls  of  sand,  and,  throwing 
it  on  the  band,  told  them  to  give  us  "  The 
Star-Spangled  Banner"  or  we  would  bury 
them  right  there. 

The  band  commenced  to  play  the  music, 
and  the  boys  to  sing  the  words.  They  got 
on  somehow  until  they  reached— 

"0,  say.  does  the  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave?'' 

when,  raising  one  wild  whoop,  they  rushed 
to  the  band,  upsetting  one  another  in  the 
sand,  silencing  the  music,  scattering  the 
drummers,  and  yelling — "This  is  God's 
country!" 


PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE.  191 

Yes,  I  remember  it  all;  but,  reader,  you 
will  not  see  it  in  my  tame  description.  If 
I  could  paint  for  you  the  untrimmed,  tan- 
gled hair,  that  hung  in  matted  tags  or  stood 
out  in  all  directions  above  brows  that  had 
once  been  noble  and  fair,  but  were  now  all 
blotched  and  stained  by  disease;  if  I  could 
paint  the  hollow  cheek,  the  dull  eyes,  the 
fleshless  limbs,  hands  like  birds'  claws — the 
filthy,  vermin-eaten  rags;  and  could  then 
put  my  picture  through  all  the  contortions 
of  unrestrained  motion, — even  then,  you 
could  not  see  all  that  is  in  my  memory. 

As  soon  as  sense  returned,  we  were  told 
to  turn  to  the  left  and  cross  a  little  creek, 
beyond  which  we  would  camp.  We  came 
to  the  creek,  found  a  box  of  soap  on  the 
bank,  and  with  the  shout — "  This  is  God's 
country,  for  here's  soap!" — more  than  a 
hundred  men,  each  with  a  bar  in  his  hand, 
plunged  into  the  stream  and  tried  to  turn 
jt  into  soapsuds. 


CHAPTER.  XXITT. 


HOMEWARD    BOUND 

The  place  selected  for  our  camp  was  a 
side-hill  pasture,  with  a  few  trees  scattered 
over  it  for  shade.  The  military  authorities 
had  made  the  best  preparation  they  could, 
in  the  brief  time  since  the  captain  of  caval- 
ry had  reported  us. 

A  load  of  hospital  tents  had  been  hauled 
out  and  distributed  for  our  use,  but  we  did 
not  put  them  up  that  night.  We  did  not 
need  them.  Bob  and  I  carried  one  up  un- 
der a  tree  and  folded  it  to  lie  on. 

It  was  about  sun-set  when  we  reached  our 
(192) 


PRISON   LIFE    IN    DIXIE.  193 

camping-ground.  Stragglers  kept  coming 
in  till  ten  o'clock,  when,  of  the  thirty-three 
hundred  that  had  been  turned  loose,  about 
seven  hundred  had  reached  our  lines. 

Just  before  dark  a  wagon  came  loaded 
with  bread — the  first  wheat  bread  we  had 
seen  in  a  long  time.  We  got  a  loaf  apiece 
and  ate  it.  Then  came  four  barrels  of 
boiled  meat — the  kind  known  to  the  trade 
as  "mess  pork,"  but  known  to  the  soldiers 
by  a  different  name.  We  secured  a  good 
piece  of  that,  and  ate  it.  Then  came  coffee 
by  the  barrel.  We  took  our  old  bucket  and 
drew  a  quart  of  that,  and  drank  it. 

Then  Bob  said  he  wouldn't  go  down  the 
hill  again,  no  matter  what  they  brought. 
Presently  the  cry  was  raised,  "  They  are 
issuing  whiskey."  I  proposed  to  Bob  that 
we  go  and  get  our  share,  but  he  said  he  was 
too  tired.  I  then  told  him  I  would  go  and 
draw  his  ration,  and  bring  it  to  him.  I 
went,  told  the  man  I  had  a  "  pard "  who 
was  sick,  and  drew  both  rations  in  our 
bucket,  and  went  back.  When  I  got  to  our 
tree,  Bob  was  gone,  so  I  set  the  whiskey 
down  to  wait  till  he  came.  Soon  he  came 
13 


194  PRISON   LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

limping  up  the  hill.  After  I  had  gone,  he 
became  anxious,  for  fear  they  would  not 
give  me  his  ration,  so  he  limped  down,  took 
his  turn,  and  had  drawn  and  drank  his 
'gill.'  We  made  equitable  division  of  what 
was  in  the  cup,  and  thus  had  three  gills  to 
two  men. 

We  had  travelled  about  twenty  miles 
that  day,  and  ought  to  have  been  tired,  but 
the  excitement,  the  pork,  the  coffee  and  the 
whiskey,  took  away  all  drowsiness.  We 
sat  and  talked  of  home,  and  what  we  would 
do  when  we  got  there,  till  far  into  the 
night.  Finally  we  decided  that  we  must 
sleep,  or  we  would  not  be  fit  for  anything 
next  day.  So  we  lay  down  and  remained 
silent  a  good  while,  but  I  never  was  wider 
awake  in  my  life.  Bob  lay  so  still  that  I 
could  not  tell  whether  he  was  asleep  or  not, 
so  I  whispered  softly,  "Bob!" 

"  What  do  you  want?" 

"I  can't  sleep." 

"  Neither  can  I." 

After  awhile  we  decided  that  we  must  go 
to  sleep. 

We  lay  quite  still  for  a  long  time.      Sud- 


PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE.  195 

denly  Bob  arose  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
gathering  our  sock,  which  still  contained 
about  a  pint  of  meal,  he  called  out,  "Oats! 
Here  goes  the  last  of  the  Confederacy"  and 
taking  the  sock  by  the  toe,  he  began  to 
swing  it  around  his  head,  strewing  the  meal 
all  over  me,  himself,  and  our  tent.  That 
put  sleep  out  of  the  question,  so  we  got  up 
and  chatted,  till  we  heard  the  bugle  across 
the  creek,  blow  reveille. 

When  it  was  day,  we  found  that  eleven 
of  those  who  had  struggled  so  bravely  to 
keep  up,  and  had  greeted  the  flag  with  the 
head  of  the  column,  were  DEAD. 

That  mother  and  sister,  waiting  in  their 
darkened  northern  home,  may  never  know 
how  hard  their  dear  one  tried  to  come,  nor 
how  he  almost  succeeded. 

A  train  of  wagons  and  ambulances,  with 
surgeons  and  nurses,  went  out  on  our  back 
track,  to  look  after  those  who  had  given 
out  by  the  way. 

It  took  them  three  days  to  go  and  return. 
They  found  a  good  many  who,  with  a  little 
help,  were  able  to  straggle  into  camp; 
some  who  were  past  walking,  some  dying — 


196  PRISON  LIFE   IN   DIXIE. 

and  some  already  dead.  They  were  scat- 
tered along  the  entire  road,  to  where  we 
were  turned  out.  The  dead  were  buried, 
and  the  living  brought  in  and  cared  for. 

We  stayed  in  Jacksonville  about  three 
weeks.  During  this  time  we  drew  new 
clothes,  had  our  hair  trimmed,  beards 
shaved,  and  changed  till  we  hardly  knew 
each  other.  We  were  then  put  on  a  steam 
boat  and  taken  to  Fernandina,  where  we 
were  put  on  an  ocean  steamer,  called  "Cas- 
sandra." 

That  evening  we  steamed  out  upon  the 
Atlantic,  and  began  to  enjoy  (?)  a  sea  voy- 
age. We  put  in  at  Port  Royal,  and  took 
aboard  a  large  lot  of  ice,  and  four  or  five 
nice  military  officers.  We  asked  those  who 
loaded  the  ice,  what  it  was  for,  and  they 
told  us  it  was  furnished  by  the  Sanitary 
Commission,  for  the  sick  soldiers.  We  sup- 
posed that  meant  us— but  we  soon  found 
we  were  mistaken.  It  was  kept  in  a  re- 
frigerator built  on  purpose,  that  opened  on 
the  top  deck,  and  was  securely  locked  up. 
They  expected  it  to  be  kept  for  the  use  of 
the  ship's  officers  and  those  nice  military 


PRISON  LIFE   IN  DIXIE.  197 

fellows  in  the  cabin.  We  thought  it  a  clear 
case  of  misappropriation.  The  next  morn- 
ing when  the  steward  went  to  get  a  piece, 
to  fix  up  mint-slings,  and  such  luxuries,  he 
found  the  door  wide  open  and  the  ice  all 
gone. 

You  guess! 

In  three  or  four  days  we  reached  Fortress 
Monroe.  Then  Annapolis,  where  we  dis- 
embarked. Then  over  the  Baltimore  & 
Ohio  railroad  to  Camp  Chase,  Ohio — where 
we  were  discharged  on  the  16th  of  June. 
Then  home. 

I  was  to  my  folks  as  one  from  the  dead. 
They  had  given  me  up.  Mother  told  me 
that  she  would  never  be  any  surer  that  I 
was  dead,  unless  I  should  die  at  home,  than 
she  had  been.  What  a  time  we  had.  There 
were  no  dry  eyes. 

Does  the  reader  ask  what  became  of  my 
old  comrades,  Cudge  and  John?  They  were 
murdered  by  an  agent  of  the  United  States 
Government.  They  got  to  Vicksburg,  and 
were  exchanged  all  right,  and  were  to  be 
sent  North  for  discharge. 

The    steamboat  "Sultana"  was  at  the 


198  PRISON  LIFE  IN  DIXIE. 

landing.  If  she  had  been  in  good  condition, 
five  or  six  hundred  men  would  have  been  a 
good  load  for  her;  but  the  inspectors  had 
condemned  her  as  unsafe.  Yet  in  the  face 
of  this  fact,  the  agent  was  induced  by  some 
means  to  give  her  the  extraordinary  load 
of  eighteen  hundred  human  beings!  She  did 
not  run  far,  till  she  exploded  and  burned 
up.  Nearly  all  on  board  perished. 

Charley  Higgins,  of  my  company,  one  of 
the  few  survivors  of  that  catastrophe,  told 
me  this:  John,  Cudge,  and  himself  had  lain 
down  between  the  engines;  Charley  in  the 
rear,  John  in  the  middle,  and  Cudge  in 
front,  or  next  to  the  boilers.  When  the 
boilers  burst,  Charley  and  John  sprang  up; 
but  seeing  Cudge  lie  still,  Charley  ran  to 
him  and  took  hold  of  him  to  help  him  up. 
But  something  had  struck  and  killed  him! 
John  and  Charley  then  ran  and  jumped 
into  the  river  among  the  hundreds  of  strug- 
gling mortals.  Charley  was  picked  up 
about  five  miles  below,  swimming  and 
floating  with  the  current.  John  was  never 
found. 


SPEECH  OF  GEN.  GARFIELD 

AT  THE  ANDERSONVILLE  REUNION,  AT  TOLEDO, 
OHIO,  OCTOBER  3,  1879. 

"MY  COMRADES,  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN: 
I  have  addressed  a  great  many  audiences, 
but  I  never  before  stood  in  the  presence  of 
one  that  I  felt  so  wholly  unworthy  to  speak 
to.  A  man  -who  came  through  the  war 
without  being  shot  or  made  a  prisoner,  is 
almost  out  of  place  in  such  an  assemblage 
as  this.  While  I  have  listened  to  you  this 
evening  I  have  remembered  the  words  of  a 
distinguished  English  gentleman,  who  once 
said  that  '  he  wras  willing  to  die  for  his  coun- 
try, but  he  would  not  do  a  mean  act  to  save 
both  his  king  and  his  country.'  Now,  to  say 
that  a  man  is  willing  to  die  for  his  country, 
is  a  good  deal;  but  these  men  who  sit  be- 
(199) 


200  SPEECH   01*   GEN.   GARFIELD. 

fore  us  have  said  a  great  deal  more  than 
that.  I  would  like  to  know  where  the  man 
is  that  would  calmly  step  out  on  the  plat- 
form and  say,  'I  am  ready  to  starve  to  death 
for  my  country!'  That  is  an  enormous 
thing  to  say;  but  there  is  a  harder  thing 
than  that.  Find  a  man,  if  you  can, 
who  will  walk  out  before  this  audience  and 
say,  '  I  am  willing  to  become  an  idiot  for 
my  country!'  How  many  men  could  you 
find  who  would  volunteer  to  become  idiots 
for  life  for  their  country?  Now,  let  me 
make  this  statement  to  you,  fellow-citizens: 
One  -hundred  and  eighty-eight  thousand 
such  men  as  this  were  captured  by  the  reb- 
els who  were  fighting  our  Government. 

"One  hundred  and  eighty-eight  thousand! 
How  many  is  that?  They  tell  me  there  are 
four  thousand  five  hundred  men  and  women 
in  this  building  to-night.  Multiply  this 
mighty  audience  by  forty  and  you  will  have 
about  one  hundred  and  eighty-eight  thou- 
sand. Forty  times  this  great  audience  were 
prisoners  of  war  to  the  enemies  of  our  coun- 
try. And  to  every  man  of  that  enormous 
company  there  stood  open  night  and  day 
the  offer — 'If  you  will  join  the  Rebel  army, 
and  lift  up  your  hand  against  your  flag,  you 
are  free!"3 

A  voice— "That's  so!" 


SPEECH   OP  GEN.   GARFIELD.  201 

Gen.  Garfield — -"  'And  you  shall  have  food, 
and  you  shall  have  clothing,  and  you  shall 
see  wife,  and  mother,  and  child.' " 

A  voice — "  We  didn't  do  it,  though.'' 

Gen.  Garfield — ''And  do  you  know  that 
out  of  that  one  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
thousand  there  were  less  than  three  thou- 
sand who  accepted  the  offer?  And  of  those 
three  thousand,  perhaps  nine-tenths  of  them 
did  it  with  the  mental  reservation  that  they 
would  desert  at  the  earliest  hour — the  first 
moment  there  was  an  opportunity." 

A  voice— "  That's  so." 

Gen.  Garfield— "  But  one  hundred  and 
eighty-five  thousand  out  of  the  one  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  thousand  said,  'No!  not  to 
see  wife  again;  not  to  see  child  again;  not 
to  avoid  starvation;  not  to  avoid  idiocy; 
not  to  avoid  the  most  loathsome  of  loath- 
some deaths,  will  I  lift  this  hand  of  mine 
against  my  country,  forever!'  Now,  we 
praise  the  ladies  for  their  patriotism;  we 
praise  our  good  citizens  at  home  for  their 
patriotism;  we  praise  the  gallant  soldiers 
who  fought  and  fell.  But  what  were  all 
these  things  compared  with  that  yonder?  I 
bow  in  reverence.  I  would  stand  with  un- 
sandaled  feet  in  the  presence  of  such  hero- 
ism and  such  suffering;  and  I  would  say  to 
you,  fellow-citizens,  such  an  assemblage  as 


202  SPEECH  OF  GEN.   GARFIELD. 

this  has  never  yet  before  met  on  this  great 
earth! 

"Who  have  reunions?  I  will  not  trench 
upon  forbidden  ground,  but  let  me  say  this: 
Nothing  on  the  earth  and  under  the  sky 
can  call  men  together  for  reunions  except 
ideas  that  have  immortal  truth  and  immor- 
tal life  in  them.  The  animals  fight.  Lions 
and  tigers  fight  as  ferociously  as  did  you. 
Wild  beasts  tear  to  the  death,  but  they 
never  have  reunions.  Why?  Because  wild 
beasts  do  not  fight  for  ideas.  They  merely 
fight  for  blood.  All  these  men  and  all  their 
comrades  went  out  inspired  by  two  immor- 
tal ideas:  first,  that  liberty  shall  be  uni- 
versal in  America;  and  second,  that  this 
old  flag  is  the  fla^  of  a  Nation,  and  not  of  a 
State — that  the  N  ation  is  supreme  over  all 
people  and  all  corporations.  Call  it  a  State; 
call  it  a  section;  call  it  a  South;  call  it  a 
North;  call  it  anything  you  wish,  and  yet, 
armed  with  the  nationality  that  God  gave 
us,  this  is  a  Nation  against  all  State- 
sovereignty  and  secession  whatever!  It  is 
the  immortality  of  that  truth  that  makes 
these  reunions,  and  that  makes  this  one. 
You  believed  it  on  the  battle-field,  you  be- 
lieved it  in  the  hell  of  Andersonville,  and 
you  believe  it  to-day,  thank  God!  and  you 
will  believe  it  to  the  last  gasp." 


SPEECH   OF   GEN.    GARFIELD.  203 

Voices—"  Yes,  we  will !"    "  That's  so !"  etc. 

Gen.  Garfield — "Well,  now,  fellow-citizens 
and  fellow-soldiers — but  I  am  not  worthy 
to  be  your  fellow  in  this  work — I  thank  you 
for  having  asked  me  to  speak  to  you." 

Cries  of— "Go  on!  Go  on!"  "Talk to  us 
some  more!" — etc. 

"  I  want  to  say  simply  that  I  have  had 
one  opportunity  only  to  do  you  any  service. 
I  did  hear  a  man  who  stood  by  my  side  in 
the  halls  of  legislation — the  man  that  of- 
fered on  the  floor  of  Congress  the  resolu- 
tion that  any  man  who  commanded  colored 
troops  should  be  treated  as  a  pirate,  and  not 
as  a  soldier — I  heard  that  man  calmly  say, 
with  his  head  up  in  the  light,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  American  people,  that  the 
Union  soldiers  were  as  well  treated  and  as 
kindly  treated  in  all  the  Southern  prisons 
as  were  the  rebel  soldiers  in  all  the  North- 
ern prisons." 

Voices— "Liar!"  "Liar!"  "He  was  a 
liar!"  [Groans,  hisses,  and  a  storm  of  in- 
dignation.] 

Gen.  Garfield — "  I  heard  him  declare  that 
no  kinder  men  ever  lived  than  Gen.  Winder 
and  his  Commander-in-chief,  Jeff  Davis. 
And  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  overwhelm 
him  with  the  proof  that  the  tortures  you 
suffered,  the  wrongs  done  to  you,  were  suf- 


204  SPEECH   OF   GEN.   OARFIELD. 

fered  and  done  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
Confederate  authorities,  from  Jeff  Davis 
down — that  it  was  a  part  of  their  policy  to 
make  you  idiots  and  skeletons,  and  to  ex- 
change your  broken  and  shattered  bodies 
and  dethroned  minds  for  strong,  robust, 
well-fed  rebel  prisoners.  That  policy,  I  af- 
firm, has  never  had  its  parallel  for  atrocity 
in  the  civilized  world." 

A  voice— "That's  so!" 

Gen.  Garfield — "  It  was  never  heard  of  in 
any  land  since  the  dark  ages  closed  upon 
the  earth.  While  history  lives,  men  have 
memories.  We  can  forgive  and  forget  all 
other  things  before  we  can  forgive  and  for- 
get this. 

"  Finally,  and  in  conclusion,  I  am  willing, 
and  I  think  that  I  speak  for  thousands  of 
others — I  am  willing  to  see  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  late  war  buried  in  the  grave  of 
our  dead.  I  would  be  willing  that  we 
should  imitate  the  condescending,  lo'ving 
kindness  of  Him  who  planted  the  green 
grass  on  the  battle-fields  and  let  the  fresh 
flowers  bloom  on  all  the  graves  alike.  I 
would  clasp  hands  with  those  who  fought 
against  us,  make  them  my  brethren  and 
forgive  all  the  past,  only  on  one  supreme 
condition:  that  it  be  admitted  in  practice, 
acknowledged  in  theory,  that  the  cause  for 


SPEECH  OF  GEN.   GARFIELD.  205 

which  we  fought  and  you  suffered,  was  and 
is  and  forever  more  will  be  right,  eternally 
right.  That  the  cause  for  which  they 
fought  was  and  forever  will  be  the  cause  of 
treason  and  wrong.  Until  that  is  acknowl- 
edged, my  hand  shall  never  grasp  any 
rebel's  hand  across  any  chasm,  however 
small." 


A  VISIT  TO  ANDERSONVILLE. 


A  correspondent  of  the  Boston  Herald 
who  recently  visited  the  site  of  the  prison 
at  Anderson ville,  writes  as  follows: 

"Anderson  is  the  name  of  a  station  on 
the  Southwestern  Railroad,  about  sixty 
miles,  or  two  hours'  ride,  from  Macon.  It 
is  nothing  but  a  railroad  station,  and  the 
only  other  thing  besides  the  railroad  which 
characterizes  the  spot,  is  the  immense 
Union  Cemetery,  of  some  twenty  acres, 
over  which  floats  the  Star-Spangled  Banner. 
The  Cemetery  is  located  on  the  spot  where 
the  prisoners  were  buried,  and  the  trenches 
were  dug  with  such  precision^nd  regular- 
ity that  the  soldiers  were  not  generally 
disturbed,  but  allowed  to  remain  as  their 
comrades  interred  them,  working  under  the 
watchful  eyes  and  fixed  bayonets  of  the 
(206) 


ANDEESONVILLB  IN   1880.  207 

Georgia  Home-Guard.  The  Cemetery  is 
surrounded  by  a  stout  brick  wall,  with  an 
iron  gate,  and  is  under  the  supervision  of  a 
Superintendent,  who  lives  on  the  grounds. 
It  is  a  plain  spot.  There  is  not  much  at- 
tempt made  to  ornament  this  city  of  our 
martyred  dead.  It  would  take  a  great  deal 
of  even  such  influences  as  plants  and  flowers 
possess  to  dispel  the  melancholy  memories 
that  haunt  this  hill  in  the  pine  woods  of 
South  Georgia. 

"  Southerners  shun  the  spot,  but  the  Cem- 
etery is  much  visited  by  Northern  travelers, 
and  the  register  in  the  Superintendent's 
lodge  contains  many  strange  inscriptions 
besides  the  names  of  the  visitors.  One  lady 
asks  the  forgiveness  of  God  for  the  murder- 
ers of  her  brother,  who  sleeps  in  the  Ceme- 
tery. Sentiments  of  passionate  denuncia- 
tion are  more  frequent.  Occasionally  a  man 
who  was  in  the  stockade  turns  up  among 
the  visitors.  These  men,  whatever  their 
natural  temper,  the  Superintendent  says, 
can  almost  be  distinguished  by  the  effects 
of  fear,  dread/and  vivid  recollection,  which 
come  back  like  a  shock  into  their  faces  as 
they  again  stand  on  the  now  quiet  and  sun- 
lit scene  of  their  war  experiences. 

"  In  the  Cemetery  the  ground  is  of  a  gen- 
eral level,  and  the  graves  of  the  known  and 


208  ANDERSONVILLE  IN  1880. 

unknown,  properly  separated,  range  in  rows, 
closely  laid,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach. 
There  are  actually  buried  on  this  elevation 
thirteen  thousand,  seven  hundred  and  fifteen 
men !  The  soldier  whose  identity  was  pre- 
served by  his  comrades  is  marked  in  his 
resting-place  by  a  white  marble  stone,  ris- 
ing eighteen  inches  above  the  level  of  the 
ground.  A  square  marble  block  with  the 
word  'Unknown/  is  repeated  about  one 
thousand  times  in  the  Cemetery.  There 
was  no  necessity  for  the  contractor  to  swell 
his  bill  with  mule-bones  in  filling  up  this 
burial-place.  There  were  bones,  and  mil- 
lions of  bones;  bones  ready  at  hand  when 
he  began  his  work  to  occupy  him  till  long 
after  he  was  wearied  of  it  and  longed  to  see 
it  done.  The  bodies  of  fourteen  thousand 
men,  who  perished  not  where  death  was 
neck  and  neck  with  lite — on  the  battle-field 
—but  in  the  comparative  (?)  security  of 
prison  walls. 

"Part  of  the  stockade  is  still  standing. 
There  were  two  rows  of  trees,  one  inside 
the  other.  The  outer  row  Jias  fallen  down, 
save  for  a  few  posts  here  and  there,  but  a 
large  part  of  the  inner  wall  still  stands. 
Trees  have  grown  up  around  the  old  pen, 
and  a  thick  growth  of  underbrush  now 
covers  the  site  of  the  prison.  No  traces  of 


ANDERSONVILLD   IN   1880.  209 

the  famous  brook  that  ran  through  the 
stockade  remain,  nor  the  wonderful 
wells  dug  by  the  prisoners.  It  is  all  now  a 
mild  and  peaceful  section  of  the  country. 
Many  of  the  soldiers  in  the  Cemetery  have 
handsome  headstones  erected  to  their  mem- 
ories by  friends  in  the  North,  and  efforts 
are  frequently  made  to  have  certain  graves 
'kept  green'  with  flowers  and  a  shower- 
pot." 


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Christian  Sunday-School  Library. 


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The  Air  we  Breathe.  The  Israelite. 

Our  Duties.  Lectures  for  Children. 

Mary  and  Martha.  Our  Lord  and  Saviour. 

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Maternal  Influence.  "Weeping  and  Tears. 

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Law  of  Love.  Wonders  of  the  Atmosphere . 

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THE  CHRISTIAN  BIBLE  LESSONS. 

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25       "       "       "          "        "       280 

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FOUNT  OF  BLESSING. 

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TRUE  BASIS  OF  CHRISTIAN  UNION. 

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GRACE  AND  GOOD  WORKS. 

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A  BRIEF  TREATISE  ON  PRAYER. 

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PRINCIPLES  AND  OBJECTS  OF  THE  RELIGIO US  REFORM ATIOX. 

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SALVATION  FROM  SIN;  OR,  WHAT  MUST  I  DO  TO  BE  SAVED? 

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THE  UNION  MOVEMENT. 

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TRUE  METHOD  OF  SEARCHING  THE  SCRIPTURES. 

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SPIRITUALISM  SELF-CONDEMNED. 

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RADICALISM  VS.  CONSERVATISM. 

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SIX  LETTERS  TO  A  SCEPTIC. 

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OUR  STRENGTH  AND  OUR  WEAKNESS. 

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THE  PASTORATE. 

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SCRIPTURAL  SANCTIFICATION. 

An  Examination  of  the  Doctrine  of  Instantaneous  Holiness. 

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THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

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EVANGELISTS  AND  THEIR  WORK  IN  THE  CHURCHES. 

By  Thomas  Munnell  . 10 

OUR  PLEA  AND  MISSION. 

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WOMAN'S  WORK  IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST. 

By  Mrs.  A.  M.  Mathes 10 

MODERN  REVIVALISM. 

ByD.  R.  Dungan 10 

THE  MISSION  OF  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

By  John  W.  Randall 10 

THE  POVERTY  OF  JESUS  THE  WEALTH  OF  THE  SAINTS. 

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CHURCH  DISCIPLINE. 

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WHICH  IS  THE  TRUE  CHURCH? 
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FOLLIES  OF  FREE  THOUGHT. 

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and  every  form  of  Infidelity.  108  pp 20 

MORRIS'  LETTERS; 

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THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  GETTING  RELIGION. 

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THE  SABBATH  QUESTION; 

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By  Elder  F.  Walden 10 

THE  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST  IDENTIFIED. 

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THE  MISTAKES  OF  INGERSOLL  ABOUT  MOSES. 

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talked-of  lecture  of  Col.  Ingersoll  upon  the  "Mistakes  of 
Moses."  For  the  poison  diffused  by  the  Infidel  orator  there  is 
no  better  antidote.  Elder  Dungan  is  his  equal  In  wit  and  in 
powers  of  ridicule,  while  he  is  far  superior  In  logic  and  In  knowl- 
edge of  the  subject.  Indeed  he  shows  that  Ingersoll  is  either 
culpably  ignorant  of  the  writings  of  the  great  Law-giver  whom 
he  assails,  or  else  wilfully  misrepresents  the  greatest  teacher 
of  the  Pre-christian  world.  The  tract  is  a  complete  refutation 
of  the  sophisms  and  misrepresentations  ol  the  Chicago  lee- 


14  PUBLICATIONS  OP  CENTRAL  BOOK  CONCERN. 

turer.  It  ought  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  all  who  have  been 
exposed  to  skeptical  Influences,  or  who  need  to  be  confirmed  In 
the  faith,  and  every  Christian  should  read  It  In  order  to  know 

how  to  meet  the  cavils  of  the  enemy.    Price 10 

THE  DISCIPLES  OF  CHRIST. 

Abrlef  history  of  their  rise  and  progress;  wherein  Is  shown 
the  Difference  between  a  Reformation  of  Sects  and  a  Complete 
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The  Following  are  Without  Covers: 

THE  PLAN  OF  SALVATION. 

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THE  FELLOWSHIP. 

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BAPTISM  FOR  THE  REMISSION  OF  SINS. 

By  W.  K.  Pendletou.  8vo 10 

THE  UNITY  OF  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

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EXPOSITION  OF  THE  NEW  BIRTH. 

By  J.  F.  Rowe.    8vo 10 

CONFIRM  A  TION. 

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OUR  POSITION. 

A  Brief  Statement  of  the  Distinctive  Features  of  the  Plea  for 
Reformation  urged  by  the  People  known  as  the  Disciples  of 
Christ.  By  Isaac  Errett.  Single  copy.  8vo 6 

THE  EVIDENCES  OF  PARDON. 

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BAPTISTS  AND  DISCIPLES. 

Correspondence  between  the  Ohio  Missionary  Society  and  the 

Ohio  Baptist  State  Convention  on  question  of  Union.  8vo.  54  pp      5 
CHURCH  AND  SCHOOL. 

By  John  Aug.  Williams 

DUTY  OF  CHRISTIANS  TO  CIVIL  GOVERNMENT. 

By  S.  E.  Shepard 6 

HEATHEN  TESTIMONIES  TO  THE  ANTIQUITY  AND 

Truthfulness  of  the  Old  Testament.    By  Thomas  Munuell 6 

THE  NEW  COMMANDMENT. 

A  Tract.    By  Jonas  Hartzell 5 

POSITIVE  DIVINE  INSTITUTIONS. 

ATract.    ByJohnTaffe.    12mo.,16pp 5 

LOGIC  OF  INFIDELITY 

H.  S.  Bosworth.    8pp..  --  1 

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